We've Only Just Begun
by Alexandri
Summary: [Sequel to Starting Over] Now that Joan and Adam are engaged, they have to resolve their problems and plan a wedding. Can they rearrange their lives and maintain their sanity? COMPLETE!
1. Prologue

A/N: Hi, I'm back with a brand-new story. No flashbacks in this one, I don't think. You know the drill: R&R. I'm working on that myself. Anyway, I hope you like it. I'll post the next chapter as soon as I finish it.

Thanks.

Will Girardi stood in a corner of his living room, separate from the impromptu celebration, watching his daughter with saddened delight. Joan, his baby girl, had just gotten engaged and she was radiant with her happiness. Though she was chatting with her future father-in-law, her eyes were never far from Adam Rove, her new fiancé. Will watched as her gaze invariably sought Adam out. It was as if she found immeasurable comfort in his presence. _She used to look at me that way_, Will mused as he took a sip of the beer he held. Now she had someone else to look after her.

"A penny for your thoughts."

Trying to hide his grimace from his wife, Will wrapped an arm around her waist. "Joan looks happy."

"Yes, she does. So why are you scowling at her?"

"I am not scowling, Helen."

"You're right," she agreed a little too readily. "You're sulking."

"No, I'm not," he countered sulkily.

Helen patted his arm. "We have to let her go some time."

Though he knew Helen was right, Will was still resistant to the idea. "Does it have to be now? Can't we put it off for a decade or two?"

"I don't recall you behaving like this when Kevin and Rebecca got engaged."

"That was different. He hadn't needed me to look out for him in years."

"Uh-huh." Helen gently turned him toward her and stared into her husband's eyes. "Joan will always need you. You're her daddy. But it's time for you to pass the torch. And you couldn't ask for a better torchbearer than Adam."

Will looked back at their daughter. Adam stood behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders. He whispered something in her ear. Joan looked up at him, a question in her eyes, but she took his hand with absolute trust and allowed him to lead her outside to the porch. He hated to admit it but Adam looked at his baby girl with such profound love that Will knew that he'd move heaven and earth for her if necessary. Reluctantly, he met his wife's eyes. "You're right. I know you're right."

He caught a glimpse of Joan as the front door closed behind the couple. A breeze swept up her hair, blowing soft tendrils all about her. She didn't seem to notice; she was too busy gazing lovingly at her fiancé. Will turned back to Helen to find the same expression, mixed with understanding, on her face. With a sigh, he took his wife into his arms and gently kissed her. "It's going to be difficult to let her go."

"She's your little girl."

Will rested his forehead on Helen's. "Not anymore."

* * *

Joan followed Adam to the swing her parents had recently added to the porch. She settled beside him and curled her legs beneath her. He stretched out his legs and pushed the swing lightly. Neither said anything; they just held hands and enjoyed the quiet time together.

The three hours since they'd gotten engaged had been hectic to say the least. Between the mass congratulations, the post-picnic clean-up, and the current gathering with their parents, Joan and Adam hadn't had a moment alone since she'd said yes.

She looked down at their joined hands. Her engagement ring winked at her in the late afternoon sun. The fact of their engagement still hadn't really sunk in yet. It seemed like she had stumbled into a lovely dream. But the weight of the ring—though not really heavy—assured her that everything that was happening was real. A satisfied smile on her lips, Joan laid her head on the back of the swing and let her gaze roam over her fiancé.

He'd laid his head back as well. His eyes were closed and a smile similar to hers had settled on his lips. The sun gilded his skin. He glowed like a young demi-god. Laughing inwardly at the fanciful thought, she reached out and traced the length of his nose.

Adam's eyes fluttered open in surprise. He turned his head and watched her, a question in his eyes. She just smiled and continued her exploration of his face. She outlined his eyebrows and cheekbones and jaw, stopping briefly to playfully nudge the dent in his chin. Skimming her fingers over his velvety skin, she marveled at how much he'd changed. He'd grown into his features, adapted to his own skin over the last few years. She cupped his cheek in her palm, wondering what he'd look like at their parents' age.

Adam's hand slipped over hers on his cheek. Her eyes snapped to his while she absently stroked his bottom lip with her thumb. Desire, curiosity, and love swam in the depths of his eyes. It pleased her to see her own jumble of emotions on his face. She leaned toward him and captured his lips with hers.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her closer. They deepened the kiss gradually, savoring the increased intimacy. Joan moaned in protest when he finally pulled back. Five weeks was far too long to go without one of Adam's kisses.

Joan opened her eyes and lay her head back on the swing. Adam continued to rock the seat back and forth. "This is nice," she said.

"Yeah." He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Her smile grew as his fingers brushed her ear. "What?"

"We're engaged."

"I know," he said, his voice an awed caress.

"It doesn't seem real. We're going to . . ." she paused, then shrugged when she couldn't find the right words to express what she was feeling.

"Get married," he finished for her.

"Be Mr. and Mrs. Rove." A little thrill shot through her at the words. "I like the sound of that."

"Me, too," he replied, giving her hand a little squeeze. They lapsed into silence, content to simply be in each other's presence. Eventually, Adam patted her knee and stood. "I'm going back inside."

Pouting, Joan tugged his hand until he hovered above her. She pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. "Stay a little longer."

"I'd like to but I need to talk to your father."

Blinking in surprise, she said, "Why?"

"It's a guy thing," he said when she continued to gape at him. He flashed a reassuring smile at her and let go of her hand. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck." She watched him stride into the house, wondering what he could have to talk to her dad about.

* * *

Their parents were congregated on the sofa when Adam entered the house. Three pairs of eyes looked up at him. "Where's Joan?" Helen asked.

"She's still on the porch." Adam wrung his fingers a bit, uncertain of how he wanted to proceed. While he was ecstatic that Joan had said yes, he hadn't intended to propose so soon. He'd thought that he would visit for a few days and gauge Joan's feelings. Then he would know where they stood and he could make the proper arrangements. And his conversation with Will Girardi would be under completely different circumstances.

"Adam?"

His father's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "Hmm?"

"Are you all right?"

Smiling to assuage Carl's concern, Adam nodded and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I'm fine. I just need to speak with Mr. Girardi alone for a minute." He cringed at the formality but he'd always felt the least comfortable with Will. All of the Girardi men were protective of Joan, but something about Will was especially intimidating. Adam wasn't sure if it was because he was Joan's father or because he was a cop. Whatever the reason, until this discussion was over, he figured formality was the safest route.

Will frowned in surprise. "All right." He rose from the couch and led Adam to the kitchen. They sat on opposite sides of the table, with Will patiently waiting for Adam to begin.

"I was going to talk to you before but everything just sort of happened." The words tumbled out before Adam could refine them into something coherent. He looked up at Will to see if the statement had made even a glimmer of sense to him. Seeing the curious look in Will's eyes, Adam guessed it hadn't. He cleared his throat and tried again. "It was my intention to talk to you before I proposed to Jane. You know, to make sure I had your blessing."

* * *

Of all the things Adam could have said, this was the last thing Will had expected. "You want my blessing?" he asked.

Adam nodded, the picture of solemnity. Will felt any lingering concerns he had melt away in the face of Adam's sincerity. He had just opened his mouth to say so when Adam began to speak again.

"I know how close you and Jane are and, if I was you, I'd be a little worried. Things are happening so fast. You couldn't have been prepared for this."

"That's true." Will leaned back in his chair.

He watched the young man take a deep breath before looking into his eyes. "It doesn't help that Jane and I don't have the best track record. We've hurt each other despite our best efforts. These past four years alone . . ."

"Even the most madly in love couple is bound to hurt each other sometimes, Adam. It's inevitable."

He frowned as he considered Will's words. Finally, he nodded and said, "I suppose. I couldn't have promised that I'd never do anything to hurt her anyway. Never intentionally, of course." Adam smiled, then launched back into his train of thought. "But I can promise that I'll always love Jane. I'll be there for her and stand beside her. I'll do everything I can to make sure she's happy and protected. You needn't worry about her."

Will nodded even though he knew that he'd always worry about Joan no matter who she married. "All right."

"That brings me to my next point."

"Do you have an outline or something?"

Adam flushed. "Yes, sir."

"You can call me Will."

"Yes, sir. Now . . ."

Will bit back his smile. "You have my blessing, Adam."  
"But I didn't finish . . ."

"You don't have to." Will leaned forward and rested his hands on the table. "Joan loves you and it's obvious you love her. I already know that you make her happy and that you'd do everything in your power to keep her safe."

"But . . ."

"I've watched your relationship develop and you two have been through more than some couples have in twenty years. It's going to be hard to let go of her, but I know you'll take care of her." He held his hand out to his daughter's fiancé. Adam shook it. "Congratulations."

"Thank you . . . Will," Adam said awkwardly.

"We'll work on the Will thing."

"Okay."

* * *

Grace had come up the front walk and was standing on the porch before Joan noticed her presence. She wasn't altogether surprised by this. After all, Adam was in town. Joan tended to become single-minded when he was around. Grace just wasn't sure if this particular development was beneficial to the talk she knew they needed to have.

"You got my message," Joan said, her voice soft and dreamy.

"Yeah. So," she said brightly when Joan didn't say anything else, "what's going on?"

Joan furrowed her brow as if trying to determine the best way to break the news. For a minute, Grace was afraid she'd tell her their friendship was over. "Adam and I . . . we're engaged."

It took a minute for her to process what Joan said. "Really?"

Joan held up her left hand, her expression apologetic and hopeful all at once.

"Congratulations, Joan." To Grace's dismay, Joan's face fell and her shoulders slumped. She stared at her lap like dejected child. "What?"

"You only call me Joan when you're angry or annoyed with me."

Holding back a sigh, Grace leaned against the railing and tried to figure out the best way out of the mess she'd created. "Joan, Girardi, I'm happy for you. Honestly."

"Really?" she asked in a small voice.

"Yes. Did you think that one little argument had ended our friendship?"

Joan shrugged, still looking for all the world like a lost little girl. "I said some awful things and you haven't spoken to me for three weeks until this morning. Then you called me Joan. I don't know what to think."

"Move over." Grace sat on the swing next to Joan. Her friend should be nauseatingly happy right now, not down because their friendship was messed up. "I'm not mad at you. I was, but I'm not anymore."

"Why?"

"Because I started the fight. You just defended yourself."

"The stuff I said about Luke wasn't self-defense."

It was Grace's turn to shrug. "It got me to shut up, so it counts."

"Still."

"The other reason is," she couldn't believe she was admitting this, "I wasn't really mad at you to begin with. Everything I said during the argument . . . I was talking about myself. You called me on it. We're even."

They sat in silence. Grace hoped this was the end of the discussion. She didn't really want to dwell on the finer points of their argument or her feelings about Luke. Especially since she wasn't clear on them herself.

"So we're okay?"

"Did I just have that conversation by myself?" With a joyous squeal, Joan flung her arms around Grace and hugged her hard. "Hey. There's no call for this."

"Too bad," Joan declared, squeezing hard. "I'm happy and newly engaged. I'm getting my way."

Laughing, Grace good-naturedly shoved Joan off of her. "Let's see this ring."

Joan held out her hand again, this time as radiant as a newly engaged woman should be. "He made it himself," Grace said. "I'm impressed. Where is Rove anyway?"

"Inside with our parents. He said he had to talk to my dad."

"Then I guess we should join the party," Grace said as she got up. "You are the guest of honor and all."

"Grace?"

"Yeah?"

A frown marred Joan's brow. "You will be my maid of honor, won't you?"

"As long as you promise not to make me wear a hideous, poofy dress."

"Cross my heart."

Grace smiled, thankful that their friendship was back on track. "Then you've got yourself a maid of honor."

"Yay."


	2. May

A/N: Thanks so much for your reviews. I'm so glad so many of you are excited about a new story from me. It makes me feel loved. Anyway, please forgive any unrealistic happenings in this chapter. It's been a while since I've been in either a maternity ward or around a two-year-old, so I could be totally wrong about both. I hope you enjoy the chapter.

Alexandri

Carl Rove drifted into his kitchen drawn by the unusual aroma of freshly prepared food. "What's all this?"

Adam glanced over his shoulder, oblivious to Carl's disbelieving stare. "I'm making dinner."

"I can see that." Carl wandered around the room noting the various ingredients, most of which hadn't been inside his kitchen since his wife died. "Is Joan coming over?"

"No, we're going out." Carl watched his son take a baking pan out of the oven. The smell of chicken made his stomach growl. "This is for you."

"For me? You didn't have to."

"Yes, I did." Adam set his pan on the stove and turned all the dials off. Then he opened the cabinet nearest him to reveal an entire shelf devoted to ramen noodles. "Dad, come on. Ramen noodles, hot dogs, TV dinners. You should be eating better than this."

"It's nice that you're concerned, but I'm fine, Adam."

His son just shook his head and heaped piles of rice and broccoli on the plate before adding an herb-baked chicken breast. "No, Dad, you're not. I'm worried about you," he said as he set the plate on the kitchen table before his dad and sat down.

Despite his appetite, Carl pushed the plate aside and folded his arms on the table. "Why?"

Adam mirrored his father's pose. "Aren't you lonely?"

Carl gaped at his son. "Why do you ask?"

"When I was in school, it made sense to me that you didn't go out or do things with other people. After Mom died, we just sort of shut out the rest of the world. I mean, we had each other. But I haven't been around for years now and . . . what do you do when I'm not here, Dad?"

"I do things," he declared. "I just don't do a lot of them."

Pushing his dinner back in front of his dad, Adam frowned at his father's lame answer. "Like what?"

Shrugging, he picked his fork and tasted the rice. "This is good."

"Dad."

"There's the regular poker night with some of the guys from work." Carl focused his attention on his food. It really was good. He didn't know where Adam had learned to cook so well. It certainly wasn't from him.

"What else?" his son prompted.

"Why is this so important to you?"

"Why are you evading the question?"

With a defeated sigh, Carl looked Adam in the eye. "You don't have to worry about me, Adam. No, I don't doing a whole lot or eat as health as I should. But I'm okay. Really."

He didn't look convinced, but Adam said, "All right. I still think you should get out more. Take a cooking class or something."

"You may be right," Carl allowed with a smile, "but you have more important things to think about."

"What are you talking about?" he asked as he got up and began putting the leftover food into the new Tupperware he'd bought.

"You and Joan," Carl answered around a mouthful of broccoli and chicken. He swallowed and said, "How is that going to work exactly?"

The way Adam's shoulders slumped pained Carl. He knew the couple was happy to be together but it seemed like they always ran headlong into complications. Before he even spoke, Carl knew Adam was going to put up a brave, unworried front. "It'll work out. We're going to talk about it over dinner."

"What arrangement are you hoping for?"

Adam leaned against the counter and considered his father's question before answering. "I don't know. I'll be happy as long as I'm with Jane, but I don't know."

A worry line creased Adam's forehead and Carl decided to leave him to his thoughts. Privately, he hoped that his son moved back to Arcadia. He missed him.

They'd fallen into a comfortable silence—Carl eating, Adam putting up the food and mentally restocking the kitchen—when the phone rang. They looked at each other then glanced at their watches. It wasn't quite seven. They looked at each other again and shrugged before Adam grabbed the phone. "Hello? . . . Hey. . . . Why? . . . She did? . . . That's okay. . . . Which hospital? . . . Okay, I'm on my way. . . . I know. I want to. . . . Okay. Bye."

Carl watched Adam hang up the phone, his curiosity peaked by the one-sided conversation. "Who's in the hospital?"

"Jane's sister-in-law, Rebecca. She's having her baby."

"Go on then." Carl shooed Adam out of the kitchen.

"I'm going," Adam said as he stuffed his arm in his jacket. "Have a good night at work."

"I will."

"And think about what I said about getting out more."

Carl just barely kept from rolling his eyes and prodded his son out of the door. "Good night, Adam."

* * *

Leila slouched in the uncomfortable waiting room chair and glared at the nervous but excited adults around her. Her grandparents and her Aunt Joan couldn't wait for the arrival of her new baby brother or sister. As her mommy got bigger, the more the adults in her life ignored her. Like now, her grandparents sat on either side of her but neither had spoken to her in the last ten minutes. Aunt Joan, who'd been pacing a few minutes ago, was now playing a game on her cell phone.

_It'll probably be cuter than me, too_. She wished she at least had a doll or something to play. Sitting in a smelly hospital with the faint, intermittent sound of screams and crying was not Leila's idea of fun.

"Hey."

Everyone looked up. A tall man entered the waiting room with a big food bag in one hand and a to-go tray of drinks in the other.

Aunt Joan popped out of her chair and carelessly tossed her phone in her seat. She took the tray out of the man's hands and kissed his cheek. "I'm so glad you're here."

The man smiled and said, "I thought you'd be hungry." He turned to Grandpa Will and Grandma Helen. "And I brought coffee."

"Bless you," Grandpa Will said as he got up.

Suddenly, the stranger was surrounded by her adults and she was left alone. With knitted brow and pouting mouth, Leila hopped off her chair and made her way across the room until she stood beside the strange man's legs.

She hadn't even had time to tug on his pants before he looked down and noticed her. "Hi, Leila."

"You know me?" she asked, too surprised to remember her manners.

He nodded and crouched down so they were eye-level. "We met a couple months ago."

"Oh." Leila looked down at his hands. They were hanging loosely in front of his knees. She felt bad that she didn't remember him. He seemed nice.

"It's okay if you don't remember me," the man said. "You were sleepy when we met."

"Oh."

He smiled at her. He had a nice smile and she couldn't help smiling back. "My name is Adam," he said and held one of his hands out to her. Tentatively, she wrapped her hand around his index and middle fingers and they shook them. "I'm going to marry your aunt."

"That's good?" She wasn't quite sure what it meant to get married.

Adam nodded. "It's good."

"Okay."

"Guess what?"

"What?"

"I got something especially for you." Adam held his hands out as if to pick her up.

Leila hesitated. After all, she didn't know him. She looked up at her aunt. Joan nodded. Looking back at Adam, Leila noticed his patient expression and allowed him to grasp her waist and lift her.

He set her on his hip and dug into the big food bag one-handed. "Let's see. I got you . . ." he stuck in tongue out in concentration and dug a little deeper before pulling something out, "a juice box. Apple, of course. And . . ." he passed her the juice box and dug into the bag again, "a peanut butter and jelly sandwich."

Leila's eyes lit up. She loved apple juice and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. How had he known? Suddenly, she narrowed her eyes and stared at the sandwich skeptically. "What kind of jelly is it?" she asked as politely as she could under the circumstances.

"Grape. Is there any other kind?"

Grinning, Leila shook her head. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Adam suddenly cocked his head to the side. "Let's go sit so you can eat."

"Aren't you eating anything?" She didn't like eating alone.

He shook his head. "But I have a cup of coffee."

Leila thought it over. "Okay."

Joan handed him a cup with a strange grin. "Go easy on him, Leila."

The little girl blinked at her aunt, not sure what she was being told to do. But she already knew that Joan didn't always make sense, so she nodded and gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

Adam sat in the seat she'd left and settled her on his lap. Then he unwrapped the sandwich, handing her a half before putting the straw in her juice. Neither said anything while he sipped his coffee and she began to her sandwich. It had extra jelly, just the way she liked. How had he known? She decided not to question it, especially since her mouth was full.

She was halfway through the sandwich before he spoke. "You want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"Whatever you were thinking about when you came over."

Leila put her sandwich and considered his question. No one had really asked her how she felt about the new baby. Not in the last few months anyway. She was confused. She wanted to be happy about it like everyone else but she wasn't. The new baby seemed dangerous to her like it was replacing her. Could she tell him that? He was a stranger and she wasn't supposed to talk to strangers. But if he was going to marry her aunt—whatever that meant—than he wouldn't be a stranger for long. Looking up into his understanding eyes, Leila decided she'd take a chance on one condition. "Promise you won't tell?"

Adam nodded solemnly. "I promise."

"Okay," she said and picked up her sandwich. "I'll tell you."

* * *

The sight of Leila and Adam deep in conversation brought a wistful smile to Joan's lips. She'd always thought he had a natural affinity for children. This proved it. Leila didn't take to just anyone.

"What is it, honey?"

Her mother's voice pulled Joan out of her thoughts. "Hmm?"

Helen gave her daughter a knowing look. "What brought on that smile?"

Joan nodded toward her fiancé and niece. Her smile slipped a little as she noticed Leila's dejected look. A single tear slid down the toddler's face and she sniffled. Then she laid her head on Adam's chest while he soothingly rubbed her tiny back.

Mother and daughter exchanged bewildered looks. "What do you think that's all about?" Helen whispered.

"I don't know," Joan said, "but we should probably pay extra attention to her. This is going to be a big adjustment for Leila."

The two women sighed as they contemplated their ignorance of Leila's feelings.

* * *

"Thank you."

Adam looked up as Joan sat down beside him. "For what?"

She slipped her hand in his free one. "Everything. For coming. For waiting with us for six hours. For taking care of Leila."

"She's a sweet kid." He stared down at the child sleeping on his chest.

"Yeah, well, she's smitten with you."

"Not again," he laughed softly.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Not like that. Leila's not really outgoing. She's oddly cautious for a two-year-old. But not with you." Smiling at the peaceful look on her niece's face, she brushed back the girl's dark curls. "We've all been so worried about Rebecca and the baby, we forgot about Leila."

"Why are you worried? Is something wrong?"

"When Rebecca got pregnant this time, the egg didn't make it to her uterus. It implanted itself in her tube and they had to do surgery to move it. She almost didn't make it." Tears sprang to Joan's eyes and Adam pulled her into his arms. "It's been a difficult pregnancy for her. We didn't tell Leila because we didn't know how to explain the pregnancy itself, let alone the complications."

Joan laid her head on his shoulder and he stroked her back like he'd stroked Leila's earlier. Gradually, she relaxed. Her breathing evened out and she nestled closer to him. Smothering a yawn, Adam kissed her forehead then rested his cheek against her hair and let his fatigue overtake him.

He'd sunk into a warm, restorative sleep when Joan jerked upright unexpectedly. His head jerked and he looked around, alert but confused. "What's going on?"

"Huh?" Joan moaned and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"No, no. It's okay." Brushing her hair back, Adam peered into her face. "What happened?"

"I don't know." She gave him a reassuring nod. "Can I . . . can I get you anything? Something to eat or drink? Take Leila so you can stretch your legs?"

"I'm fine."

"Okay," Joan whispered as she settled back into her previous position.

"Jane?"

"Yeah?"

"We need to . . ."

"Kevin."

"What?"

Joan sat up again and gestured toward the waiting room entrance. Kevin wheeled in looking thoroughly exhausted. He came toward Adam and Joan, his eyes trained on his daughter's sleeping form. Gingerly, he lifted her onto his lap and cuddled her close. Adam caught the dismayed look Joan shared with her parents as they joined the quiet group.

Everyone waited for Kevin to speak, hoping for the best but certain of the worst due to his silence. Helen broke first. "Well?"

Kevin looked up at his mother as if surprised to see her there.

"Don't leave in suspense."

"Sorry," he said, a tired smile stretching his lips. "Long night. It's a boy. Eight pounds, three ounces."

"And Rebecca?" Will asked.

"Resting. Weak, but . . ." Kevin looked down at Leila again, his smile so full of love, it was almost heartbreaking, "she's going to pull through."

Helen wrapped her son and granddaughter in her arms. "I'm so happy for you, honey."

Kevin accepted his family's congratulations, shushing them only when his daughter stirred in his arms.

"Can we see her?" Joan asked.

"No, the labor took a lot out of her. But baby Trevor is in the observation nursery if you want to see him."

"Trevor?"

"Actually William Trevor," he amended. "Since we already have a Will in the family and no one actually likes the name Billy, we decided to call him Trevor. Follow me."

Will and Helen followed Kevin while Joan and Adam stood and stretched. Hands linked, they hurried after the others.

The two couples stood in front of the glass staring at Kevin's new son. "He's perfect," Helen whispered.

"He really is," Joan said, leaning back in Adam's arms.

The five adults watched baby Trevor scrunch up his face and blow an air bubble before relaxing into sleep again. After a few minutes' vigil, Kevin said, "I'm going to go sit with Rebecca."

"Do you need us to keep Leila?" Will asked.

Kevin shook his head. "I think Rebecca would like to see her," he said before he left.

Joan watched Kevin carefully wend his way to Rebecca's room. For someone who'd just had a child, he seemed awfully subdued. "Do you think she's really all right?"

"I don't know, kiddo," her dad answered. "I think maybe she's not out of the woods yet."

Joan looked away, frightened by the thought that things might still go bad for her brother. She was thinking that she use some divine instruction when she felt Adam's sigh tousle her hair. "What is it?" she asked, staring up at him.

"It's nothing."

She gave him her "don't b.s. me" look. He gave her a weak smile and tipped his head to the side. "Okay," she whispered, knowing he wanted to talk in private.

They moved off to the side. Adam leaned back against the wall and pulled her into his arms. "Now," she said, "tell me what you're thinking."

"This really isn't the best time."

"When is it ever?"

Adam smiled. "I'm going back to New York on Monday."

"Oh." Joan felt like he'd just punched her in the stomach. He'd only been in town for five days. Though a part of her knew that he wasn't in Arcadia to stay, she hadn't thought he'd be leaving again so soon. "How long will you be gone?"

"At least through August."

"I won't see you for the whole summer?"

"I have commitments in New York until the end of summer." Adam took Joan's stricken face in his hands. "We'll talk it about later."

"No. Let's do this now."

"It's too much, Jane. This is just part of a bigger discussion we need to have."

He was right. She knew that. Joan scoffed, amazed that she'd been naïve enough to think anything in her life could ever be simple. This wasn't his fault. She didn't blame him. Neither of them had expected life to become the roller coaster it had been for the last two months.

"Come with me."

"Where are we going?" she asked absentmindedly.

"To New York. Come with me to New York."

Joan gaped at him. "Are you . . . are you serious?"

Adam raised an eyebrow and Joan laughed apprehensively as she realized they were repeating the faithful conversation that had separated them in the first place.

"Come visit me," Adam clarified. "For a week or a month or the whole summer if you can. School's letting out soon, right?"

"Yeah."

"And you don't have to work through the summer, do you?"

"No."

"Then come to New York. Just for a little while." Adam gave her a rueful look. "After you've gotten things in order here."

Joan's mouth opened and closed as she searched for an answer.

"Think about it," he said. "You don't have to decide right now. Especially with everything else that's going on."

"Okay."

Adam pushed off the wall and gave her a quick kiss before moving to rejoin her parents. "Maybe we can have the other talk over dinner tomorrow."

"Adam?"

He turned back to her. "Yeah?"

Joan hesitated a moment. She wasn't sure she was making the right decision, but God had told her to trust her instincts. This felt right. "I meant 'okay, I'll come to New York.'"

It was Adam's turn to gape at her.

"I'll have to wait until school's out, obviously. And I want to make sure everything's all right with my family and Grace. I think she's going through more than she's admitting. You know how private she is, though, so I could be off-base." She paused and took a deep breath. "But, I think spending the summer with you in New York could be good for us."

"Are you sure?"

She shook her head. "Not really, but I'm willing to do it anyway."

"Fair enough." Adam squeezed her hand gently in his. "We should . . ." He pointed to her parents.

"Yeah."

They covered the short distance as slowly as possible. Finally, Adam gave Joan a long, soft kiss. When she looked up at him, he smiled and said, "Thank you."


	3. June

A/N: Hello, all. I'm back with a new chapter. I warn you now that there is much angst. Sorry this took so long. Hopefully, chapter four won't take a week to write. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Because I'm supposed put this in the story somewhere, nothing affiliated with _Joan of Arcadia _belongs to me. I'm just borrowing. All new characters, however, as well as the plot are mine. Okay, that's it. I'm not doing this again.

In the four years he'd lived in New York City, Adam had only been to the Empire State Building once. Now as he watched Joan, he wondered why that was. She stood with her face raised to the sun, her eyes closed. A cool, gentle breeze fingered her hair. She looked serene, yet almost jubilant. He had to admit it was peaceful here. He felt removed from the worries and obligations and deadlines that made up his life.

"This is beautiful," Joan whispered almost reverently.

Of course, it could just be Joan's presence that made everything else seem faraway. "What exactly?"

Eyes still closed, she threw out her arms as if she intended to embrace the entire city. "All of this."

With a teasing smirk, he asked, "You do realize your eyes have been closed the entire time we've been up here, don't you?"

Her eyes fluttered open as she faced him. "Yes," she answered, laughter bubbling to her lips. "But this," she gave a vague, encompassing wave, "this moment is perfect. Well, almost."

"What's missing?"

"You aren't kissing me."

Adam pulled Joan into his arms. "I can see where that would diminish the moment."

She came closer still. "So what are you going to do about it?"

He leaned in, pleased to see her lips part in anticipation, and caught her sigh as they kissed. Initially soft and gentle, Joan was soon clinging to his shoulders while Adam held her as close as possible, one hand buried in her hair. When they finally parted, both were panting for air. "How was that?" he managed.

"Wow." Joan wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder. "I can't believe this is really happening."

"What?"

"This," she whispered. "Me being here with you in New York."

Adam knew what she meant. From the moment she'd accepted his spontaneous invitation to the minute he saw her come through the gate at La Guardia that morning, he had been certain something would come up and she wouldn't come. The possibility that he wouldn't see her for three whole months (he really couldn't afford to take any more time away from his work) had distressed him. Given the current state of their relationship, he knew his misgivings were unfounded. But he also knew that things didn't always go as planned, especially not with Joan. Standing on the deck of the Empire State Building, arguably one of the most historically romantic buildings in the city, with her in his arms was pretty amazing.

"Adam?" she murmured against his neck.

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you invited me."

He gave her a little squeeze. "I'm glad you came."

Joan pulled back just enough to see his face. "Promise me we'll come back here before I have to leave."

"I promise," he said and kissed her temple. "We'll come at night when the city's all lit up."

"Perfect." She took a deep breath before pulling out of his arms and holding her hand out to him.

Taking her hand and leading her to the observation deck's elevator, he asked, "Where do you want to go now?"

She scrunched her nose as she considered her options. "I want to see what I missed."

"And that would be?"

"NYU." She narrowed her eyes as if reassessing her statement, then nodded. "Yes. I want to see NYU."

"Okay." They stepped onto the elevator as Adam tried to sift through his unexpectedly chaotic emotions. Throughout his time at school, he'd wished she were there to share the experience with him. That single, inescapable wish had haunted him since coming to New York. Its futility had fueled his anger his first year there. His subsequent disappointment had spiraled into emotional withdrawal, at least romantically.

The idea of showing her the campus scared him. What if the anger and resentment he'd felt resurfaced? What if he vented those feelings? Did he even still feel that way or were these thoughts just memories rearing their ugly heads at the least opportune time?

Adam mechanically guided Joan to the subway and headed for campus. Subconsciously, he realized that she was strangely quiet. For that, he was both grateful and saddened: grateful because it allowed him to focus on controlling his volatile emotions and saddened because this was her first day in the city and a problem had already popped up. _Stop trying to make things difficult_, he reprimanded. _You're in love, you're engaged and you're supposed to be happy. Dredging up the past won't help anything._ Keeping his advice in mind, Adam put his arm around her shoulders.

Much to his relief, the campus tour didn't bring up any undue issues for him. He pointed out buildings, told amusing stories about how he'd met a friend here or had pseudo-deep artistic discussions there. He showed her his former classrooms (the ones that weren't occupied anyway) and the sites of his first and last student exhibitions. She didn't say much, just laughed or asked questions at the proper times. Adam wondered at her somber air. Just as he decided to comment on it, Joan looked up at him. "What were you like here?"

Surprised, he discovered he hadn't a clue how to answer her question. "I don't know."

"Who would?"

Most of his friends would, Rodney especially. But Rodney and Kat were in Savannah visiting her family and the rest of his friends were probably working. It was the middle of the week and, as far as he knew, no one was going through a creative crisis. The only other person he could think of was his mentor. "Dr. Riley."

"Your old teacher, right?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Can I meet him?"

Adam looked at her with searching eyes. She gave away nothing. He didn't think this was a good idea and briefly considered saying no. But he had promised they'd do whatever she wanted to do today, so he checked his watch. Dr. Riley had his office hours now. "Sure," he said, hoping he'd masked the depth of his reluctance. "Let's go."

* * *

Dr. Marcus Riley looked up, startled by the unexpected knock on his office door. It was too early in the summer term for student visits. Hoping it wasn't the department chair (he couldn't stomach the arrogant bastard), he said, "Come in."

Relief and pleasure washed through the professor when he saw his former student peeking into his office. "Are you busy?"

"Adam!" he exclaimed. "It's good to see you. Come in. Come in. Close the door behind you." He had just seen Adam a little over a month ago, so he was more than a little surprised to see the girl he brought in with him. The pretty brunette clutched Adam's hand while quickly taking in Riley's office. "And who is this lovely lady?"

Her eyes snapped to him, full of approval, respect, and amusement. Riley liked her instantly.

"This is my fiancée, Joan Girardi."

Both men turned to her, concerned when she winced. "What is it?" Adam asked.

"I still hate it when you call me that. We're going to have to work something out for introductions."

Adam snorted. "I call her Jane," he explained, "unless I'm mad at her."

"Then it's . . ." she shuddered, "Joan."

She said her name with such disdain that Riley roared with laughter while he waved his visitors into the two armchairs in front of his desk. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Joan," he said when his laughter subsided.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, too."

"So, this is unexpected. Congratulations are in order. How did you two meet?"

"We went to high school together," Adam said.

Riley noticed the way his hand tightened around hers. Her thumb stroked his and her lips curved upward. "High school sweethearts?"

The couple gazed at each other. "Yeah," Joan replied.

"Something like that."

The look in Adam's eyes, and mirrored in Joan's, spoke of something much deeper than high school sweethearts. Deeper than soul mates. There was joy, love, confusion, and serenity in his eyes all at once; a sort of satisfied surrender that Riley had never witnessed in his young protégé before. No one and nothing had ever made Adam look like that since Riley had met him. Joan rose immeasurably in Riley's estimation. Congratulations were definitely in order. Clearing his throat to gain their attention, Riley asked, "When's the big day?"

The pair shared a secret, almost stunned look. "We haven't talked about it yet," Adam admitted.

"But we'll definitely send you an invitation when we do," Joan added.

"Wonderful. I'll look forward to it," Riley said. "So, what brings you two here?"

"Well," Joan began when Adam didn't answer, "Adam was showing me the campus and I realized I wanted to get a better sense of who he was when he was here. So, he suggested I talk to you."

Riley's eyebrows shot toward his hairline. "Well, now. That's quite a request." He paced before his desk a bit, trying to think of the best way to describe his favorite ex-student. "Moody," he declared finally. "He was awful his first year."

Joan giggled at her fianc's slack-jawed expression. Riley shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry, but it's the truth. You were moody and sullen and pissed at the world in general. But talented." He turned to a suddenly serious Joan with a confidential air. "He was the most talented, hardest working student I'd had in ages. His work that first year wasn't always polished, but it was aggressive, passionate, emotional. Raw.

"His second year, it was like he'd excised whatever demons he had. His work became much more cerebral. Thoughtful, sophisticated. The emotion was still there; it just took a backseat to whatever was on Adam's mind as opposed to in his heart. He's continued in that vein ever since."

Joan and Adam sat back in their seats, each obviously lost in thought. Riley wondered if he'd been too honest when Joan glanced at Adam with teary eyes. Before he could think of something to lighten the mood, she sat up and said, "Where's the lady's room?"

"Down the hall to the left," he answered, a bit dejected by the couple's downcast expressions. "You can't miss it."

"Thank you." She gently pulled her hand out of Adam's and excused herself. "I'll be right back."

The men watched her go, then faced each other. "I said too much, didn't I?"

Adam shook his head. "I think maybe you said just enough."

Riley frowned at Adam. He wasn't sure if that meant he'd said enough for Joan or for Adam.

* * *

Madison pulled back from Dr. Riley's office door, relieved to hear the faint murmur of voices inside. She was late and the last thing she wanted was to confront an irritated boss. True, her schedule was pretty relaxed. He wouldn't be too upset with her since she'd just come from a callback, but she _did_ have a lot of work to do for him and not a lot of time to do it in.

She put away her purse and jacket and sat at her desk, ready to attack a mountain of correspondences that needed to go out tomorrow. As she worked, a self-satisfied grin broke out on her face. The callback had gone well. With any luck, she'd get a call in a couple days offering her the role of Nora in an Off-Broadway revival of Ibsen's _A Doll's House_. Playing the part would be a dream come true. She'd aspired to the part since she'd first discovered it in high school. _Work now_, she reminded herself. _Fantasize later._

"You look happy," a voice said wistfully, interrupting Madison's attempt to focus on her task.

An unknown brunette walked down the hall toward her. She cast a fleeting look at Professor Riley's door before returning her attention to Madison. "Dr. Riley's with someone right now. Would you like to leave a message for him or wait?" Madison asked pleasantly.

The woman looked at the door again and absently twisted the ring on her left ring finger, clearly uncertain. Madison took in the woman's stylish vintage sundress. She didn't look like any of the art students Madison was used to seeing. Maybe she was the professor's daughter. The woman abruptly turned back to her and shook her head. "Do you mind if I sit out here for a while?"

"Be my guest."

She sat, still twisting her ring. Nervous energy rolled off of her in waves. Madison tried to work in spite of the mounting tension, but found her own shoulders tightening up with anxiety. In an act of self-preservation, Madison set aside the envelope she'd just stuffed and determined to either help the woman calm down or get her out of the office. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" the woman asked.

"Whatever's bothering you." She stifled a laugh at the woman's startled look. "It's pretty obvious you're upset about something. Maybe talking about it will make it easier to deal with."

The woman thought about it for a moment before waving dismissively. "It's just that I recently found out something about my fiancé, that's all."

"Something bad?" Madison asked sympathetically.

"No, just sad." She waved again. "I'd rather not talk about it. My name's Joan, by the way."

"Madison." Since Joan made no move to shake hands, Madison decided not to either.

They sat quietly—Joan alternately glancing at the door and watching Madison stuff envelopes. When the silence became too much for her, Madison looked up to find Joan staring back at her. "Did you say something earlier?"

Joan nodded gratefully. "I said that you looked happy."

"I w—am." Madison blushed as she realized she almost said "was." That was plain mean, like she was blaming Joan for making her uncomfortable when Joan herself had much heavier things on her mind. Once she noticed Joan looking at her expectantly, she began to tell her about her audition and her hopes for getting the part.

Reaching over, Joan patted Madison's arm. "I hope you get the part," she said before frowning. "Is it bad luck to wish you 'good luck' or is that only before performances?"

Madison laughed. "I don't know. But thanks anyway." She liked this woman, whoever she was, in spite of herself.

"You're welcome."

"Jane?"

Madison's heart stopped at the sound of the familiar voice. Adam Rove came out of Professor Riley's office, eyes trained on the woman sitting in front of her desk. Frowning in confusion, she watched Joan stand and approach him, before taking his hand.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, his voice full of concern. "Are you all right?"

Joan leaned in and gave him a light kiss. "I'm fine. I just thought you two might like to talk alone for a while."

Madison averted her eyes. She felt trapped. Even though it had been almost a year since she and Adam had dated, it still hurt to see him. She'd thought they would make a good couple. Instead, she realized in horror, he was engaged to Joan. Was this the woman he'd been unable to rebound from? She ducked her head, hoping to escape his notice.

Joan continued, "You didn't need to worry. Madison's been keeping me company."

Wanting to sink through the floor, she swallowed her groan and repressed a cringe as she looked up at her ex-boyfriend. "Hello, Adam." She was thankful her voice didn't tremble when she said it. His "oh my God, I can't believe this is happening" look didn't help though.

"Hi, Madison." He averted his eyes, too, and blushed. She wondered if he was still embarrassed to run into her. She also wondered what kind of conversation he and Joan (why _had_ he called her Jane?) were going to have when they left. Madison was certain that Joan had both noticed and understood the discomfort between her and Adam.

"Well, um . . . I have to . . ." Madison grimaced and stood. For an aspiring actress, she seemed to suffer from an extreme lack of composure in her personal life. "Excuse me." She fled the reception area, not caring that she hadn't made a clean, dignified exit. Blindly entering the restroom, Madison went into the first empty stall she found and sagged against the partition. One day the torch she carried for Adam would go out, she knew that. Her thoughts turned back to that gentle, mutual kiss she'd witnessed. One day couldn't come soon enough.

* * *

_Poor Adam_, Joan thought as his shoulders slumped and he looked after Madison with sad eyes. Between the run-in with Madison, Dr. Riley's unexpected comments and whatever emotional onslaught he'd endured on their way to campus, she knew he was not having a good day. Slipping her arms around his waist, she gave him a quick hug. "I'm going to say good-bye to Dr. Riley, okay?"

He simply nodded.

"I hope I didn't distress you," Riley declared as he shook her hand between both of his. "I should have thought before I spoke."

"No," she assured him. "I appreciate your honesty."

"So everything is all right between you two?"

She patted his hand to ease his worry. "It will be. Thank you again. It was a pleasure meeting you."

"The pleasure was all mine, dear."

There was still no sign of Madison when she joined Adam. Silently, she slid her arm through his and let him take her to the elevator. They strolled about campus, Adam deep in his thoughts. Joan let him. She remembered his bouts of quiet after he'd broken up with Iris. At the time, she had been dreadfully insecure, not wanting him to think about his ex. She'd been afraid that if he did, he'd realized that, for all her issues, Iris was much more normal than Joan was. Now, she knew that this was his way of working through things. When he was ready, he'd let her in.

They had just entered Washington Square Park when Adam said, "Are you hungry?" He gestured toward a hot dog vendor.

"No."

"Are you sure? It's been a while since you've eaten."

"Adam, it's time." One look into his eyes told her that he understood. "We've put it off long enough, don't you think?"

He nodded. "Let's sit."

She followed him to a nearby bench and sat beside him. Now that they were going to have the "talk," neither of them seemed to know where to begin. The same thing happened the last time they'd tried to do this, so they'd let it go. Joan suspected the delayed conversation would loom over them until they got it over with.

"I knew," Adam began in a small voice, "that I was messed up that first year. I just never realized how bad I had been."

She took his hand in hers and silently encouraged him to go on.

"Everything Riley said is true, especially about me being pissed. At the time, I convinced myself that the universe was conspiring against me. Why else would everyone I love be taken away from me?" He ran his free hand through his hair and stared at his lap. Joan's heart thumped painfully in her chest as she listened because she knew that he was reliving it as he spoke.

"Somewhere in the middle of my first semester I realized that I was exaggerating. I still had my dad and Grace. You may not know this but I kept in touch with your mom. It just wasn't enough. Without you, I felt alone. I was furious with you because I blamed you for how I felt. Not matter how hard I tried, I couldn't understand why you refused to take a chance on us, take that leap of faith.

"Unlike the first time I was mad at you, I immersed myself in my art. It wasn't pretty; I was in such an ugly place. I'm surprised Rodney could tolerate me. Or anyone else for that matter, I was so awful."

Joan swiped at the tears on her cheek and smirked at him. "I always told you you were a pain in the ass when you were cranky."

Adam chuckled and squeezed her hand in thanks, then sniffed. "This was beyond cranky. I wasn't just a pain in the ass. I _was_ an ass. I'm surprised Rodney and I are friends at all."

"What changed?"

"Kat moved in. Allison, our first roommate, was a party girl. She, Rodney and I pretty much stayed out of each other's way. When she graduated at the end of my first semester, we needed a new roommate and found Kat. She'd been living with us for two weeks before she told me that she'd . . . let's just say she threatened to injury me very creatively if I didn't straighten up. That led to a huge argument which turned into me pouring my heart out to her which led to a major revelation for me."

"What was that?"

"That I wasn't really mad at you. I was mad at myself." He looked at her and wiped her cheeks with his handkerchief. "The thing is I knew why you didn't come with me. It was in your eyes when I asked you. And I understood. But I didn't want to admit to myself that I'd screwed things up with you. That the way we were was my fault. It all sounds very dramatic and overblown but there it is."

It was all Joan could do to not break down and sob. Hearing what he'd gone through and comparing it to how she'd felt broke her heart. It all seemed so pointless even though she knew that they'd needed to go through it to get to where they were. She raised her gaze to his. He was staring off into the distance and she knew he was embarrassed. Tucking her feet under her, she took a breath. It was her turn for confession. "I thought you'd stopped loving me."

"What?" He looked at her as if the thought had never crossed his mind.

"At the airport when you left, you didn't call me anything. If you'd called me Jane, I would've known I was forgiven. If you'd said Joan, I'd have hoped that there was the possibility of forgiveness. But you didn't call me anything. You just said good-bye like I was some stranger who'd given you a lift.

"Some time after you left, I think it was around Thanksgiving, I asked Grace if you ever asked about me. She said you didn't. That's when I knew we were over. There was no mending 'us.' I don't think anything hurt as much as knowing you hated me."

Adam lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "I never hated you. Ever."

"I know that now, but then . . ." she trailed off. There was one more thing she had to confess. Summoning all of her strength, she said, "I thought about coming here."

"To New York?"

"To NYU. I applied to make my advisor happy. I never thought they'd accept me."

"Why?" he whispered, surprised.

Joan shrugged. "I don't know. But they did accept me. I thought about attending, but . . ."

"You didn't because of me."

"I thought you'd look at me the way you did at the airport. I couldn't . . . I didn't think I could handle that."

Adam collapsed back on the bench and sighed. After a long moment, he said, "We're idiots."

A startled laugh escaped before Joan could stop it. "I think you may be right," she said as she laid her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. "But that's behind us now."

"Thank God."

"So, tell me about Madison," she said, snuggling deeper into his arms.

Adam shrugged. She could feel the reluctance ripple through his body. "I wasn't very good to her,' he said simply.

"What did you do?"

"I chose the wrong girl." Joan frowned up at him, confused. "I convinced myself that I was over you."

"Still not getting it."

"Madison wanted the one thing I couldn't give: my heart. Of all the girls I've dated, I think she's the only one who really wanted me and I hurt her by not reciprocating."

Joan was proud of herself for not demanding he tell her how many girls there had been. She really didn't want to know. Instead, she tortured herself with another stupid question. "Were they all as beautiful as she is?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't tell me you didn't notice that Madison should be on a catwalk somewhere." He stared blankly at her. "The girl should be a supermodel."

"She's nowhere near as beautiful as you are."

"Sure," she deadpanned.

"I mean it."

She looked into his sincere eyes and realized that he did. He honestly thought that she was more beautiful than golden-haired, ocean-eyed, all-American Madison. "You are amazing, Adam Rove."

"No," he countered with a shake of his head. "I'm just in love."

"Me, too." Joan put her head back down and watched the children play in front of them. She felt like an enormous shroud had been taken off of their relationship. Everything else, including their future residence, would fall into place. They could do this. They were ready now. Suddenly, her head popped up and she turned to her emotional exhausted fiancé. "Did you say something about hot dogs earlier? I'm starving."


	4. July

A/N: Hello, all. Sorry this chapter took so long. It didn't want to cooperate with me. I'm not too fond of it either. Whatever. I may not fit with the rest of the story so far. If that's the case, I apologize. That said, I actually hope you like it.

Disclaimer: While both _Starting Over_ and _We've Only Just Begun_ spin off into an alternate universe after No Bad Guy, I reserve the right to include/refer to events from all subsequent episodes. Just thought I'd add that in case of confusion. It's late. I might not make sense. Enjoy.

"I thought I wasn't going to like you," Kat announced as she and Joan strolled through Central Park. It was Saturday afternoon in early July and the two women had just finished shopping for Adam's birthday gift. They had developed the custom of spending their Saturdays together since both Adam and Rodney worked. Kat knew Joan was gaping at her, could almost hear the jumble of questions tumbling in her mind. She briefly considered elaborating on her comment. But she also knew enough of human nature to know that Joan needed to process the statement first. It was all in the timing, really. Kat was a great believer in timing, mostly because she didn't believe in sugarcoating anything she had to say. Spotting a free bench, a miracle at this time of day, Kat maneuvered them toward it and gratefully plopped on it. Then she settled in to wait for Joan's inevitable response.

Finally, Joan asked, "Did Adam say something to make you think that?"

"Girl, please." Kat laughed, surprised that Joan's thoughts followed that particular line of reasoning. "That boy acts a fool over you. As far as he's concerned, the universe revolves around the sun, but the sun revolves around you. That's not it."

"Then what?" Suspicion dawned on Joan's face. "You aren't in love with him, are you?" she whispered fiercely.

Biting her lips to contain her laughter, Kat shook her head. "No, I'm very much in love with Rodney. But Adam is very dear to me," she added, her amusement fading. "He reminds me of someone I lost."

"Who?"

"A cousin. We were tight, but . . . in the end, it didn't matter." Kat shrugged and forced a smile before moving on. "I watched Adam stumbled through the aftermath of your break-up and I supported him as he rebuilt himself. The man he's become is special to me. He deserves someone equally special. The Joan he remembered might be that someone. I was afraid that the Joan he proposed to might not be." Katrina wondered whether or not Joan was offended, but didn't regret anything she'd said. She'd meant every word or else she wouldn't have said it.

"It's not my place to make that judgment, I know," she continued. "He loves you. But . . ."

"People change and not always for the better," Joan concluded, her voice matter-of-fact.

"I watched my cousin make the same mistake. He was so in love that he didn't see his girlfriend who she really was. He wouldn't listen to me. He wouldn't listen to anybody and his girlfriend ruined him. Adam worked too hard to become the person he is now for me to let that happen."

"You're really protective of him," Joan said quietly.

"He's family now," Kat explained simply. "Even so, the point I'm trying to make is that, for what it's worth, you're everything I hoped he'd find and then some. You're good for him."

Joan didn't answer immediately. Kat waited. She wasn't nervous or scared. She'd said her piece and now she would wait patiently for the response.

"You have no idea how much that means to me."

Looking into Joan's teary, relieved eyes, Kat felt herself really begin to let go of Adam. It wasn't her job to look out for him anymore. "I think I do."

"Thank you for being here for him."

"You're welcome."

They fell silent, each thinking over what had just happened between them. "We didn't find anything for Adam and his birthday party's tonight," Joan said suddenly.

"He's hard to shop for."

"He's always been that way. Kat?" Joan asked.

"Yes?"

"There's something I've been thinking about asking you. I wasn't sure if I should but I am now."

Kat frowned at Joan's halting build-up. "What is it?"

"I was wondering if you'd be my bridesmaid."

"Really?" She hadn't expected that.

"Like you said, you and Adam are family. You're like a sister to him. And I like you. But more than that, you were here for him when I couldn't be. I've seen you two together and I know that a large part of who he's become is because of you. So, I guess what it really boils down to is that I trust you. So will you . . . be my bridesmaid?"

"I'd love to."

* * *

"There you are," Joan exclaimed as she came through the roof access door and found Adam on a lounge chair. "I've been looking all over for you."

"Hey." He set his sketchbook aside and swung his legs around so that he sat facing her. "Finally going to let me help with the clean-up?"

She came to stand between his knees and rested her arms on his shoulders. "No. You are not allowed to clean up after a party thrown in your honor. Besides, we're done. What have you been up to?" she asked, peering at the sketchbook behind him.

"Work."

"How's that coming?" He had a showing coming up next month and he'd been putting in fourteen-hour days six days a week. Apparently, his birthday was no exception.

He shrugged and buried his face in her stomach. She felt his kiss and her stomach clenched in response. Then he sighed and looked up at her. "It's not."

"Why?"

"My thoughts keep straying to a certain new distraction," he said pointedly.

Chuckling, she sank onto his lap. "Is it a good distraction?"

"Now you're fishing."

"Yes, I am. Quite shamelessly."

Adam laughed and Joan laid her head on his shoulder, drinking in the sound. She snuggled into him, relishing the simple pleasure of being together. It felt like they'd spent the entire evening with his friends instead of with each other. "Did you enjoy your birthday?"

"Yeah, it was pretty good," he answered, kissing her forehead. "I talked to my dad."

"How is he?"

"Good. He's upset that his doctor put him on a low-fat, low-calorie diet, though."

Joan made a sympathetic face. "Poor man."

"Since he can't eat what he's used to eating, he's taking a cooking class. I'd love to see that."

Pleased as she was to see him so relaxed, Joan still clucked her tongue at him. "That's not nice."

"Fried egg sandwiches. That's all I'm saying."

"You win." She nestled deeper into his arms and closed her eyes. He was absently rubbing her back, a move guaranteed to put her to sleep. For reasons she couldn't currently pinpoint, she liked the idea of falling asleep in Adam's arms very much. She stifled a yawn. It had been a long day.

He noticed anyway. "Sleepy?"

She nodded.

Adam stood and carried her down to his bedroom. He set her on the bed and took off her shoes. Then he went to his dresser and pull out a pair of navy-blue silk pajamas. Tossing the bottoms on a nearby chair, he sat beside her on the bed and began to undress her.

She watched his face. He seemed detached, business-like. It was like he was trying to undress her without seeing what he was doing. But, every time his fingers brushed against her skin, his brow furrowed a little more and he pursed his lips. He tugged her dress down her hips and legs, then jumped up off the bed and went dutifully to the closet to hang it for her.

Even in her drowsy state, Joan knew that Adam was behaving strangely. He'd done this before. Though she'd never admit it, she had even faked exhaustion a couple of times just so he'd put her to bed like this. He was always so gentle with her, whispering silly bedtime stories and trailing soft kisses over her stomach or down her neck. Once he even braided her hair for her. Now he was acting like they'd never been that intimate. Draping one hand across her stomach and fingering a strand of hair with the other, Joan wondered if his behavior had anything to do with why he'd slept on the living room sofa since she'd arrived.

After taking an inordinate amount of time to hang up her dress, Adam turned back toward her. He went utterly still, even stopped breathing. As he carefully swallowed whatever he was thinking, Joan wondered how she must look to him. If she were less selfish, she'd have taken pity on him and put on the pajama top herself. But she wasn't less selfish and she missed spending time with him. She'd barely seen him most of the trip.

Adam came back to sit beside her and tried, without success, to keep his eyes off of her. "What?" she finally whispered.

"What?" He sounded nervous.

Joan smiled. She couldn't help it. "Why are you looking at me like that? You've seen me in my underwear before."

"True," he said, nodding. "It's just . . ." he trailed off.

"Yes?"

Casting about for the right words, he finally sighed and met her eyes. "It's been a long time and you didn't look like this back then."

"Is that a good thing or bad?"

Adam blushed. "You've always been beautiful, but Jane . . ." he trailed off again and stared at the shirt in his hands.

"What?"

"You'll think I'm an art dork or something."

She laid her hand over his hand. He lifted his eyes to hers and she gave him a beautifully innocent smile. "I think that anyway."

Rolling his eyes, Adam chuckled. "You know that painting by Botticelli of Venus? She's standing on a shell and covering herself with her hair."

Joan nodded, amazed to find that she did know it.

"Well, seeing you like this reminds me of it except you're not a redhead. You just look so soft and . . ." he looked up at the ceiling, "lush and . . ."

"Are you having dirty thoughts about me, Adam Rove?" she teased.

His blush, which had been growing since they started this discussion, conquered his face and spread down his neck. "Yeah, I am."

The admission pleased her more than she wanted to admit, so she took the shirt out of his hands and slipped it on. He pressed a quick, relieved kiss to her forehead and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" she called after him. She'd hoped he would stay with her.

"I'm going to let you get to sleep. I still have some work to finish before I go to bed."

"Oh." Joan tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. She failed miserably. "Adam, are you avoiding me?"

"No, of course, not. Why would you think that?"

Joan shrugged. "Well . . . I mean, we haven't really spent a lot of time together since I got here . . ."

"I'm sorry about that," he said as he sat beside her.

She waved off his apology. "You have to work; I understand that. I'm not complaining. But . . ."

"What is it?"

"Why do you sleep on the sofa instead of with me?" she asked, feeling very vulnerable.

"I've been going to bed so late recently; I didn't want to disturb you."

"I don't mind being disturbed," she said with a small smile. "It's not like I have anywhere pressing to be."

"Jane," Adam began, taking her hand in his, "how would me sleeping in here change the fact that we have so little time together?"

"You come check on me every night. You didn't know I knew that, did you?"

He shook his head.

"I can feel you when you're near me, even when I'm sleeping." She gave a little, self-conscious laugh. "It's not the same as being able to talk to you, but knowing you're beside me, waking up to you in the morning, I'd like that.

"So stay with me." He lowered his eyes and Joan's spirits dropped. "Is this what our marriage is going to be like? You keep your clothes in our room and sleep on the couch?"

Adam looked at Joan like she'd just asked him to explain quantum theory. "You lost me."

"You go to bed after me and wake up before me. It's always been that way," she said patiently. "That's not going to change after we get married, so where does that leave us?"

"I was just trying to be considerate, Jane."

"And I appreciate that. I really do." Joan cupped his cheek in her hand. "But I want you with me more than I want you to be considerate."

He wasn't telling her everything. She could see it in his eyes; he was sorting out his feelings and reasons. Finally, he said, "Jane?"

She raised her eyes to his.

"I do want to stay with you."

"But?"

"But I have some things I need to finish."

Nodding through her disappointment, she gave him a thin approximation of a smile. "You'll come check on me?"

"Yeah." He smiled back but it didn't conceal the thoughts hiding in his eyes.

Impulsively, Joan wrapped her arms around him, wanting to keep him close a little longer. She buried her nose in the crook of his neck and inhaled. She loved the way he smelled. It was a cross between hot metal, supple skin, and the natural musk every man seemed to mature into. The combination was heady, intoxicating, and Joan found herself inching deeper into his arms. She didn't want to let him go.

Adam stroked her hair. She could feel him preparing to leave. Determined to be mature about his decision, she pulled back so that she could wish him good night. "Don't go."

Her eyes widened in surprise. Clearing her throat, she decided to try the mature thing again. "Please?"

* * *

Slamming his sketchbook closed and tossing it aside in disgust, Adam flopped back in his lounge chair and sighed. This was not supposed to happen. Groaning, he covered his face with his hands and tried to scrub away the image of Joan arching beneath him, gasping his name, her nails digging into his shoulders. He was supposed to be stronger than this. The thought made him laugh. He wasn't strong enough and he knew it. She was his weakness. That was the problem.

For the past month, he'd been avoiding this. Everything had been happening so quickly between them from the moment she entered his shed five months ago. He knew that for them to have sex so soon would confuse things, at least for him. With his gallery showing so close, what he desperately needed was clarity. At the moment, the only things clear to him were his memories of the two of them: their first time together, their last time four years ago, and all the times in between. Each memory vied for his attention, making him crazy. He had no protection against them. Even sitting on his roof in nothing but his pajama bottoms, he could feel her heat envelop him. His every nerve ending tingled; she surrounded him.

Yet, he couldn't bring himself to regret tonight. These last few weeks had been difficult for Adam knowing she was so close, imagining her in his bed. The only reason he'd made it this far without touching her was because he channeled all his pent-up frustration into his art. _Which is what you should be focusing on right now_, he reminded himself as he sat on the side of the chair. _Not on how the moonlight illuminated her skin or how exquisite the curves and lines of her body are or how she whispered "I love you" in her sleep as you got out of bed._

Eager to find something to distract him from his wayward thoughts, he let his eyes roam over the rooftop. His birthday party had spilled over onto the roof. Maybe someone had left something interesting behind. Anything to take his mind off of Joan. He had almost given up the search when a glint by one of the side tables caught his eye. Relieved to have something else to think about, Adam retrieved the item.

It was a gift bag. Attached to the front of it was an envelope addressed to him in Joan's handwriting. With all of tonight's activities, Adam hadn't even noticed that Joan hadn't given him a gift. _So much for not thinking about her_, he thought as he took the bag back to his seat and opened the envelope and pulled out the card. A picture of Rodin's _The Kiss_ was on the front. Charmed in spite of himself, he opened the card and found it filled with Joan's script.

My Dearest Adam,

> > I've searched this entire city and do you know what I discovered? That you are the hardest person to shop for that I've ever known. What do you get the most important person in your life? How do I pay proper tribute to you on this sacred day? I wanted to get you something that showed the depth of my feelings for you. A grand, magnificent something that you'd always remember, photographic memory notwithstanding. Instead, I'm giving you something humble, possibly even insignificant. But it is a part of me. And now it's yours as all that I am is yours. I hope you cherish it as I cherish you. Happy birthday.

With all my love,

Jane

Blinking back tears, Adam set the card aside, marveling at how easily she affected him. His hand shaking ever so slightly, he pushed the decorative tissue aside and pulled out a battered brown leather book. Puzzled, he turned to the first page.

June 12

> > It's my second day in New York and it's so big. Maybe it's not big so much as full. There's just so much here, I don't know where to start. I wish Adam were here. I want to see the city through his eyes. But he has to work. Oh, well. Maybe this weekend we'll get to do something. . . .

She'd given him her trip journal. Flipping through the pages, he was surprised to find she'd filled it. Knowing his curiosity would overcome any further attempt to work, Adam settled back in his chair and began to read.

He soon discovered that Joan had been very busy. She'd explored the East Village, which she considered quaint, as well as "fascinating" SoHo. After that, she spent the rest of her first week going to some of New York's high-profile landmarks. "But I'm saving the Empire State Building for Adam," she wrote. "As amazing as it was the other day, I can only imagine what it'll be like at night with his arms around me. I'm such a sap." She'd spent her second week visiting the various art museums. Then she stumbled on the Garment District. She'd spent that week shopping.

Interspersed with her city adventures were her impressions of his friends. She liked them all, but Kat and Rodney captivated her:

June 14,

> > Adam's roommates returned from Savannah today. Rodney's very handsome in a low-key sort of way. If you glanced at him, you wouldn't notice it but if you really pay attention, you wonder how you missed it. Kat, on the other hand, is gorgeous. Not in an Elizabeth Taylor, Halle Berry kind of way. They're obviously beautiful. Kat's more of a "Who's That Lady," can't-take-my-eyes-off-you-if-my-life-depended-on-it-you're-so-intriguing kind of gorgeous. Alluring is the word. Should I be worried that Adam has surrounded himself with extraordinarily beautiful women? Maybe it's just the artist in him. . . .

June 15,

> > . . . . Kat calls him Sugar Bear. It's the cutest thing. He blushes whenever she says it and gives me an embarrassed but pleased look out of the corner of his eye. Sugar Bear suits him, but I think I'll leave it to Kat. It's her nickname for him, like Jane is his nickname for me. They really are adorable together like brother and sister. I'm really glad he has her for a friend. . . .

June 18,

> > My mind has seriously been blown. Rodney just showed me his music collection. I know he's a DJ and is in a band and all, but wow. I don't think most music stores have a selection as vast as this. . . .

Most of the journal was like this—filled with a sense of wonder. Between his legitimate need to work and his irrational desire to keep their renewed relationship from getting out of hand, he'd missed Joan's introduction to his city. However, she seemed to be concerned with how enmeshed in the city he really was. He hadn't realized how important this trip was to her until he read her entry from two night's before.

July 3,

> > . . . . I haven't talked to Adam about this, but I've been thinking about where we're going to live. Before I came here, a part of me just assumed we'd live in Arcadia even though I knew his career was here. I think that so much of who we are together is tied up with home to me that I never thought of us living anywhere else. But being here, seeing Adam's life, if not Adam, we could be happy here. His friends here love him and, as much as I'd missed Grace and my family, I love him more. It's not like we can't visit.
>> 
>> I checked with the school board here, informally, to see what kind of positions are open. The prospects look good. Maybe after Adam's showing we'll sit down and talk about it. I can't wait until August. I want to see what he's working on (he's been so secretive) but mostly I want to spend some time with him. . . .

Adam closed the journal, a little stunned. She was willing to move here for him. He'd never really considered where they should live. He'd been afraid to. He didn't want to get attached to a certain preference before they discussed their individual needs and concerns. Suddenly feeling drained, he gathered Joan's gift and his sketchbook and pencil and went back to his apartment. He dumped everything on the dining table even though he knew Kat hated when he or Rodney did that. Then, after hesitating for a moment, he crept into his bedroom and slid into bed next to Joan.

"Adam?" He turned to see her staring at him. "You're cold."

"Sorry," he whispered.

Joan scooted closer to him and aligned her body with his. She wrapped an arm and a leg around him and squeezed him lightly.

"What are you doing?"

Nuzzling his neck with her nose, she yawned and murmured, "Warming you."

He held her close and, smiling, surrendered to the inevitable. He knew where he'd be for the rest of her visit. He never wanted to be anywhere else. With a light kiss on her hair, he squeezed her back. "Thank you."


	5. August

A/N: Okay, finally, chapter five. My only comment about this chapter is that it's not what I originally intended but, since it's highly unlike I'll ever revise it, it'll have to do. I want to thank all those who reviewed this story and the other one I posted. Y'all say the nicest things. I appreciate them more than you know.

Finally, I've been thinking about doing a JoA/Everwood summer fic. I have a basic idea but I'd need help from someone who watches both shows. Would y'all be interested in such a story? And is there anyone who could help me with it? Let me know.

Enjoy the chapter.

"Maybe I should go back and change," Joan fretted as the cab headed down Second Avenue.

Kat heaved a weary sigh. "You look great. Stop worrying."

Rodney bit his lip to keep from laughing. Kat, who rarely doubted how she looked, had remarkably little patience for Joan's fidgetiness. He, however, had grown up with four sisters. He knew that most women were seldom satisfied with how that looked, especially when it really mattered to them. And tonight mattered a great deal to Joan. To calm Joan's frazzled nerves, he patted her knee.

"I should go change," she said.

"We're almost there," Kat countered as they turned onto Houston, trying without success to keep the exasperation out of her voice. "There's no point . . ." She trailed off when Rodney caught her eye and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

"Joan," he said softly. She raised her eyes to his. She looked miserable. "What's really the matter?"

For a moment, he thought she wasn't going to answer. Then, in a small voice, she said, "I don't want to embarrass him."

Flicking a glance at Kat's astonished face, he gave her another headshake before returning his attention to Joan. "What makes you think you'll embarrass him?"

"I don't know," she said with a shrug. "I'm not elegant or glamorous like Kat is or the other women at this thing are bound to be. I'm just Joan—plain, small town Joan—and I feel incredibly . . . awkward."

"First of all, there is nothing plain or small-town about you." Rodney nodded to back up his statement. "Second, Kat is elegant and glamorous and there's nothing we can do about that, but most of the women who attend these things just have money, some education, and very little imagination."

Despite a hint of a smile, Joan was not yet convinced. "Maybe, but they won't be dressed like this," she said with a wave at her dress. "I look like I'm going on a date, not to a sophisticated gallery opening."

Rodney assessed the rose-colored, vintage-inspired lace dress. "That is the dress of a woman in love. It's sweet, romantic, and effortlessly charming. It's very you. That's all that'll matter to Adam."

"You think so?"

"Are you kidding? I know so."

The tentative smile that had been hovering on her lips emerged full-blown. "You should talk more."

"Well, thank you," he said, clearly amused. "Feel better?"

Joan nodded. "Thank _you_."

"Don't mention it." As she settled back into the seat, Rodney looked over her head at Kat. Obviously impressed, she tipped her head to him. He returned the gesture and looked out the cab window. For all of her maternal instincts, he was going to be the one to soothe the female egos in the family they'd have one day. He couldn't hold back the pleased smile that lit his face as he contemplated a future with Kat. His thoughts turned to the ring in his nightstand. Maybe tonight was the night. Rodney settled back in his seat to enjoy the rest of the ride.

* * *

"This is not good."

Joan slipped her hand in Adam's and squeezed it. "I'm sure it's fine." This, of course, was a lie. She was just as concerned and confused as Adam. In her experience, art showings were lively. Slightly obnoxious music battled with the barely contained din of conversation. Instead, the gallery was eerily hushed. The music was low, soothing, jazzy. People milled around in solemn little clusters occasionally whispering among themselves. Kat and Rodney weaved through the crowd looking vaguely overwhelmed. "They're just . . ."

"Thinking it sucks."

"Hey." Joan tugged his hand until he looked at her. "What do you think of your collection?"

He looked back at the silent patrons. "It doesn't matter what I . . ."

"Yes, it does." Joan hated seeing insecurity and disappointment cloud his face. He'd worked so hard this summer. A deep fury boiled inside her at these people for making him doubt himself. "So tell me, is your work good?"

"I think so."

"Is _this_ work good?" she demanded with a wave at the gallery.

"Yes."

She detected the beginning of a smile. "How good?"

Adam faced her, the tiny smile now full-grown. "I believe this is the best work I've ever done."

"Then why are you standing here with me?" she asked, pleased to see the confidence return to his eyes. "You should be mingling with all these potential buyers and critics and reporters. Make them truly see what you've done here."

He raised her hand to his lips and gratefully kissed her palm. "How do you always manage to believe in me?"

"Actually, it's pretty easy," she answered. "You see, I have it on very good authority that you're worth it."

"I'm glad you're here."

"Then you won't mind doing me a favor."

"What?"

"Take a deep breath." She waited for him to comply before continuing. "Get a glass of wine and get out there."

"Yes, ma'am," he murmured as he dropped a kiss on her lips. "You'll be all right by yourself?"

"Mm-hmm. Go." She watched him disappear into the crowd before heading for the closest sculpture. As eager as she was to see Adam's work, she was nervous about it too. This was a part of his life that she didn't fully understand. She knew he'd want her opinion but she feared she wouldn't be able to give him anything more than "I like them, they're beautiful." Unfortunately, she didn't inherit her mother's artistic sense.

Taking a deep breath herself, Joan looked at the first sculpture she came to. "Here goes nothing."

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Joan burst out of the gallery, tears shimmering in her eyes. She understood now why everyone had been so quiet. Stumbling through a crowd of cigarette-smoking art patrons, Joan collapsed on a bench in front of the building. She groped through her handbag and pulled out her cell phone. Impatiently, she dialed the number she wanted. Finally, when she was on the verge of hanging up, she heard a voice say, "Hello?"

"Mom," she breathed then sniffed as her emotions got the better of her again.

"Joan?" Helen asked with obvious concern. "Honey, are you all right? What happened?"

Feeling immensely silly for alarming her mother, Joan gave a shuddery laugh. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"Honey, just tell me. Is everything all right?"

"Yeah. I just wish you were here." Grinning over her own dramatics, she took a calming breath. "Mom, do you remember back when we first met Adam?"

"Of course."

"I asked you if he was any good at art? Do you remember what you said?"

Helen gasped. "That's right. Tonight's the big gallery show. How is it?"

"I'm getting to that. Do you remember your answer?"

She could almost hear her mother's smile over the line. "I said he had the potential to be great."

Nodding even though Helen couldn't see her, Joan said, "I think you're right."

"Really?" Helen said, sounding, for all the world, like the proud mama she was.

"It's amazing, Mom." She sighed, trying to think of the right words to describe what she'd just seen. "I stood there looking at his stuff and it all just clicked for me. It all made sense. I felt," Joan gave a little overwhelmed laugh, "so much. There was so much. I wish you were here. I wish you could see it yourself."

"So do I, honey." Joan let her mother's soft voice wash over her. "Tell him congratulations for me, okay?"

"Sure."

"You should get back to the showing. I'll talk to you later."

"Bye, Mom." Joan shut off her phone and put it back in her purse. Helen was right; she should get back to the gallery. Adam would surely be looking for her, waiting for her opinion. She just needed a moment to get a grip on her emotions. Then she'd go back in.

"You know, it's dangerous for a young woman such as yourself to sit outside unaccompanied like this?"

Joan glanced up to find a kind-looking older man staring pointedly at her. "I'm sorry?"

The man drew himself up to his full height—which wasn't very tall—and said, "You should always pay attention to your surroundings, Joan. You never know when something could happen, good or bad. Just a friendly word of advice."

Joan groaned. "Long time, no see."

Old Man God shrugged. "You've been busy."

"That's never stopped You before."

He gave her a lop-sided smile like he was trying to hide His amusement but couldn't quite manage it. "I'm God, Joan, not a dictator. I understand that you have a life. Speaking of which, why are you out here?"

"You know why."

"Joan," He sighed. "I can't help you if you won't let Me. Why are you out here?"

Slumping on the bench in resignation, Joan raised tearful eyes to His face. "He calls his collection _Home_. I was looking at Adam's art and there was so much emotion in it. Things I never knew. How can he and I have such a powerful connection and I not know?"

"Adam has grown immensely since you met him. He's more open, more confident. But he isn't like you. He doesn't display his feelings as readily as you."

"Then what do You call that?" she scoffed with a wave at the building behind them.

"Adam's way of coming to terms with his past."

One of his sculptures, _Mother_, came to mind. She'd stared at it for so long, she'd felt like she was drowning. The piece's rage, fear, despair, and confusion gripped her, brought unwanted tears to her eyes. Yet, for all the pain, it was the awesome infusion of love and devotion, the sense of endless yearning and loss that had devastated her. Knowing that he'd been carrying such intense feelings around for so long and she had never realized it made Joan question just how well she understood him.

"It's hard to understand the unknown."

Joan gaped at Him. "Where did that come from?"

Old Man God just smiled and patted Joan's knee as He stood. "Don't blame yourself for not understanding the true depth and complexity of his feelings, Joan. As open as he is with you, Adam can't share with you what he won't share with himself. Remember that and give him time." With that, He walked off with His customary wave.

Joan absently returned his wave as her mind wandered back to Adam's sculptures. They weren't like the ones he'd made in high school. Those were in tribute to his mother, sometimes to Joan herself. They were important to him but they weren't really about him. Each of the new sculptures revealed another facet of his inner world. A world she'd never been allowed to fully see before now.

"Hey."

For the second time that night, she glanced up to find someone standing before her. This time it was Adam. "Hey."

He sat next to her. "What are you doing out here?"

"I just needed some air."

"So why are you crying?" he asked as he pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her.

Surprised, she dabbed at her tears. "I didn't realize I was."

"Jane, what's going on? You were fine when I last saw you."

Cupping his cheek in her hand, she smiled reassuringly. "I'm fine." He merely raised an expectant eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "It's just . . ." she tapered off and waved at the gallery.

"What about it?" he asked as he slipped his arm around her waist.

Her thoughts flashed back to the sentiments of his artwork: the comfort and gratitude of _Friends_, the admiration and respect of _Helen_, the awe and love of _Her_. It sounded so simple, yet each sculpture had so many layers of emotion. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I didn't know." Shrugging, he moved closer to her. "Sometimes it all gets to be too much, so I contain it. I tamp it down and put it away. I've done that a lot since my mom died."

"So what prompted this emotional outpouring?"

He laughed at her phrasing. "I went home. Being in Arcadia again after all that time made me realize a lot of things, not just my enduring feelings for you. When I came back to New York, it just needed to come out."

"Well," she began after a long moment, "it's moving and powerful and beautiful. I am so proud of you."

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

Adam cupped the side of her face and gently drew her to him. Giggling, Joan closed her eyes in anticipation. He pressed a chaste peck first to one corner of her mouth then to the other. When he brushed a brief kiss across her mouth, she whispered his name.

"Hmm?" he asked as he nibbled her lower lip making her moan.

"Stop teasing and kiss me," she demanded. His warm, very masculine chuckle rumbled beneath her hand where it lay on his chest. Curling his hand around the back of her neck, he claimed her mouth with a long, drugging kiss. Joan sighed when he finally pulled back and rested his forehead on hers. "That didn't last long enough."

"No, it didn't," he laughingly agreed.

Trailing her finger down the front of his shirt, she said, "I suppose we have to go back in now."

"We should." He stood and held out his hand. She reluctantly took it and let him help her to her feet.

They had just reached the gallery entrance when Adam's cell phone rang. Sharing a look of surprised curiosity, he answered it. "Hello? . . . Yes, this is he . . . Who? . . . His what? . . . Wait, what? . . . Why? . . . I'll be right there . . . I'll be there as soon as I can."

He closed the phone with a snap and looked at it like he couldn't quite believe the conversation he'd just had.

"Adam?" Tugging his hand when he didn't respond, she called his name again. He raised his stunned eyes to hers. "What's happened? Who was that?"

"Dad's . . . girlfriend. He's in the hospital. He had a heart attack."


	6. September

A/N: First, sorry about the cliffie in the last chapter. It wasn't pretty but it needed to be done. I swear there's a point to it. Second, to prevent confusion, I've decided that somewhere along the line, Luke (yes, he makes an appearance in this chapter, sort of) skipped a grade and therefore graduated with Joan and the others. Just go with it. It'll make life (and writing) easier for me. Third, thanks for all the reviews. Hope you enjoy the chapter. Alexandri

Adam was decidedly unhappy. He lounged in the armchair in his father's living room, stewing in his displeasure. Carl lay on the sofa while his new girlfriend darted out of the room.

"I can get myself a glass of water, Sharon," Carl said, making a show of exasperation. But Adam wasn't fooled. He saw the amused pleasure flirting across his father's face. He enjoyed her attentiveness.

Adam just wished she'd go away. All he'd wanted was to take care of his father. Instead, Sharon had been around constantly for the past month—cooking, cleaning, running errands. She was managing things, so much so that Adam felt unnecessary to own father's recovery. "So, Dad, how are you feeling today?"

Carl stretched and sat up. "Better. How are you?"

"The usual."

"And that would be?" Carl asked, amusement lacing his tone. He was in exceptional spirits today.

Just as Adam opened his mouth to answer, Sharon bustled into the room and handed Carl his water before sitting beside him. She took his hand in hers and looked between the two men expectantly. When neither said anything, she smiled pleasantly at Adam. "Don't let me interrupt. Carry on with your conversation."

Struggling to contain the childish urge to make a face at the woman, Adam refocused his attention on his father. "Fine. I'm fine."

"Well, good. I've been worried about you."

"You've been worried about me?" Adam asked, incredulous.

Setting down his glass, Carl gently extracted his hand from Sharon's grip and folded them in his lap. "Yes, I've been meaning to talk to you about it. You've seemed a bit unsettled lately. Is everything all right with you?"

A slew of sarcastic remarks flooded Adam's mind, none of which he felt were appropriate to say to his father. A bit unsettled. Of course, he was unsettled. He'd gotten a phone call in the middle of showing his most ambitious work to date by a woman he didn't know claiming to be his father's heretofore unheard-of girlfriend. Then said girlfriend tells him his father is in the hospital after suffering a mild heart attack. Finally, when he comes to take care of his father, he's basically relegated to "useless male" status. How was he supposed to feel, footloose and fancy-free? "Um," Adam cleared his throat, "I've just been worried about you, Dad. That's all."

Carl stared at his son. It was obvious he wasn't entirely convinced. He even had that "we'll talk about this later, young man" look in his eye.

"Your dad's going to be just fine," Sharon said as she reached over and patted Adam's knee. It took all of his willpower to keep from flinching. He knew he was being petty and unfair, but he didn't like this woman being here, insinuating herself into their lives like she belonged there. "He's in good hands."

"So I've noticed," he said with a tight, false smile. He stood up and headed for the coat closet. "I'm going to go out for a while, maybe go see Jane. Do you need anything?"

"No," Carl said slowly, watching his son. Oh, yes, they'd be having a father-son heart-to-heart soon, Adam could tell. "Have a good time. Tell Joan I said hello."

"Sure." Adam thrust his arms into his jacket and stuffed his keys and wallet in the pocket. "You two have a good night." Then he was outside and he could breathe easier.

* * *

"Oh. My. God," Joan exclaimed into the phone. "Has the Earth spun off its axis? Has the West Coast finally fallen into the Pacific? Has someone successfully cloned Einstein and Newton?"

"Hello to you, too, Joan," Luke said. She could practically hear him roll his eyes.

"What life-changing miracle of science has occurred that you're at home and actually answering your phone?"

"You know I can hang up just as easily as I answered."

Laughing, Joan leaned back on the sofa. "I'm just surprised to reach you. I was going to leave a message."

"If you don't get to the point soon, you may still get the chance," Luke said good-naturedly.

"Whatever, dorkwad. How's MIT treating you?"

"Why do you insist upon calling me that?"

"Because I'm your big sister and it's my job to torment you," Joan replied cheekily.

"I thought that was Kevin's job."

Joan grinned. "We share. Now answer the question. How are you doing?"

Luke groaned. "Fine. I'm just tired."

"Ph.D kicking your butt?"

"That's one way of putting it. I knew getting a doctorate in physics would be difficult, but . . ."

"Uh, Luke," Joan interrupted, hoping to head off a lengthy scientific explanation she had no hope of understanding.

"Don't worry, Joan. I won't even try to explain my thesis to you. An amazing thing happened when I came to MIT."

"What?"

"I came to a school of science geeks and developed social skills. Turns out it's really annoying listening to people go on and on about science all the time. Who knew?"

Joan burst into a fit of giggles. She had forgotten how funny Luke was. They didn't get to talk often enough. "I miss you, geek."

"I miss you, too, sub-defective," he teased. "So, why'd you call?"

"I haven't talk to you in a while."

"Well, I did spend the summer studying in Europe."

They spent the next half-hour trading summer stories. Joan relaxed into the conversation, marveling at how far their relationship had come. Sometime during their senior year, the two had gotten closer. She suspected their respective feelings for Adam and Grace brought them together as a sort of informal support group. When he'd gone to MIT, she'd been sadder than she thought she'd be and missed him more than she'd believed possible.

"By the way," Luke said, ending her reverie, "you did get my email, didn't you?"

"What email?"

"The one I sent congratulating you on your engagement. Mom said you and Adam are together again."

"No, I didn't get it and yes, we are."

"Things are good then?"

"Yeah," Joan said dreamily.

"Should I be hearing this?"

"Shut up, Luke."

He chuckled. "When's the wedding?"

"We haven't . . . ." Joan paused at the sound of keys in the door.

"Hey. Can't talk," Grace said as she zipped from the front door to her bedroom. "I'm late."

Covering the phone with her hand, Joan asked, "Late for what?"

"My date," came her roommate's muffled reply through her closed door.

Joan sighed and shook her head. Grace had been marathon dating recently, which was not at all like her. It was like she was on a mission, a quest to find some indefinable something and this was the only way to find it. Joan had asked her about it after her fifth date with as many men, but Grace had just shrugged it off as if nothing was unusual. Shrugging herself, Joan brought the phone back to her ear. "Sorry about that."

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

His sigh weighed heavy on her. "You can talk about Grace, Joan. She's not a taboo subject."

"Yeah, I know."

"Uh-huh." Neither said anything for a moment, then Luke asked quietly, "How is she?"

"She's, um, she's okay, I guess."

"Good. So, when's the wedding?"

"We haven't set a date yet," she said as she watched Grace pad to the bathroom. Joan couldn't help wondering for the millionth time what happened between her brother and best friend to cause such a chasm. She'd been certain that there was something between them—something as special as what she had with Adam. Maybe that was just wishful thinking on her part. A desire to pair up the people in her life because she was so happily coupled herself. "Things have been kind of crazy since we got engaged."

"Everything's okay?"

"They will be."

"Well, make sure you let me know when you pick a date."

That got Joan's attention. "Why? Are you going to tear yourself away from MIT long enough to come?"

"Of course," he scoffed. "You're my sister. Even if I were in the middle of a major break-through, I'd come to your wedding."

There was a knock on the door. She went to answer it as she smiled and said, "I love you, too, Luke."

"You'd better because if I _am_ in the middle of a major discovery, you'll own me."

"Just schedule your discovery around the wedding," Joan said as she opened the door. Adam stood on her doorstep. "Hey, there." She leaned in and kissed him, one hand wrapped around his nape, the other dangling at her side.

"Hey, yourself," Adam said when the kiss ended. He gestured toward the phone. "Who're you talking to?"

"What?" Joan followed his gaze to the handset slipping from her fingertips. "Oh, no," she exclaimed and held it to her ear. "Luke, I'm so sorry."

Her brother snorted. "Yeah, yeah. You can make it up to me in December."

"What's happening in December?" she asked as she pulling Adam into the apartment.

"I'm coming home for Christmas. Didn't Mom tell you?"

With her jaw dropped, she could only manage a stunned "Really?"

"Yeah," Luke said in a deceptively off-hand manner. "Look, I have to go and so do you. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay."

"And don't forget to let me know the date when you decide." With that, Luke hung up.

Dazed, Joan hung up the phone and sank onto the sofa next to Adam.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, it's just," she broke off with a laugh, "Luke's coming home for Christmas."

"Is that unusual?"

"He hasn't been home for Christmas since high school. The Earth really must have spun off its axis." Adam laughed and she joined him. It was good to see him light-hearted again, even if it was over something fairly trivial. When their laughter died down, Joan noticed the shower wasn't going anymore. "Turn your eyes, Adam."

"What?"

"Just do it," she said before turning toward the bathroom. "Boy in the house," she called just as Grace opened the door.

"Geez, Girardi. Scare me why don't you?" she asked as she adjusted her towel. "Cover your eyes, Rove," she commanded and dashed to her room.

"Do I have a peeping Tom reputation I don't know about?"

Joan giggled. "No. We're just preserving Grace's modesty. She's in her room now."

Adam uncovered his eyes and looked a question at Joan. "Is she still acting weird?"

"Yeah."

"And she won't talk about it?"

Shrugging, she said, "You know how Grace is. I figured I'd wait until she was ready to talk."

"If she ever is."

Tucking her legs beneath her, Joan turned to Adam and silently studied him. Something was bothering him; she could tell by the way he pursed his lips ever so slightly. "You want to talk about it?"

He shook his head and she suppressed a sigh. She was going to have to pull it out of him. "How's your dad?"

"Better. The heart attack was like a warning or something. He's recovering pretty quickly."

"He's really lucky."

"Yeah." He stared at his hands for a long moment, his brow knitted as he thought. "I feel like I'm losing him."

"How do you mean?" Joan asked though she suspected she already knew.

A bitter smile settled on his lips and he picked at a hangnail on his thumb. "I've been here a month and he doesn't even need me. I could go back to New York and it wouldn't matter."

"Are you going back to New York?"

Adam slowly shook his head. "I don't think so. I've been thinking about coming home for some time now. You're here. Grace is here. Our families are here. My dad's not getting any younger and, after this, I want to be near him in case he needs me. Except he doesn't."

"He'll always need you, Adam. You're his son. Nothing's going to change that."

"I know. It's just that he has Sharon now."

Joan waited quietly. Now that they'd hit on the point, she'd have to sit back and let him take his time telling her his feelings. His shoulders tightened and he clinched his hands between his knees.

"It was my suggestion that he get out more, but I thought he'd hang out with the guys, not get a woman."

She bit her lip to keeping from smiling. He sounds so outdone.

Adam didn't notice. "And now she's always there, taking my place. Taking Mom's . . . taking over." He dropped his head in his hands and groaned. "I'm too old to feel like this."

"Oh, Adam," she crooned as she stroked his back.

Jerking upright, he turned to face her, his face anguished. "I'm twenty-seven-years-old, Jane. I've been living on my own for four years. My career is taking off. For Pete's sake, I'm engaged. I'm on the verge of starting my own family. Yet, here I am, a grown man acting like a spoiled, selfish brat because my very lonely dad has a girlfriend."

With a self-depreciating laugh, Adam looked back at his hands. "What kind of person does that make me?" he asked softly. "What kind of person begrudges his father finding a little happiness? He has a heart attack and all I can focus on is the fact that he isn't devoted to my mom anymore. Do you really want to marry someone like that?"

Taking his face in her hands, Joan forced his eyes to meet hers. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but what you're feeling is normal."

He dismissed that. "There's nothing normal about it."

"Listen to me. This is normal. You weren't anticipating this. You weren't prepared."

"That doesn't excuse my behavior."

"Your dad has been yours for over half of your life. You haven't had to share him with anybody. He didn't date or anything." She smiled comfortingly at him. "How can you be expected to just accept this?"

"I'm not seventeen anymore."

"No, you're not. But even adults have a hard time adjusting when their widowed or divorced parents get involved with other people. It's like they can't imagine their parent wanting to be with anyone else. It's not fair or rational but the way we think about our parents rarely is."

Adam raised sad eyes to her sympathetic ones. "I hate feeling like this."

"I know." Joan took his hands in hers. "But our parents change and so do their needs. Your dad had to let go of you a long time ago. Now it's your turn. It won't be easy, but I'm here when you need me."

He was quiet for a long time, letting Joan's words sink in. Finally, he asked, "How did you become so wise?"

"Believe me, it comes and goes. Besides, that wasn't wisdom. That was lots and lots of psychology classes."

Adam smiled.

"You know what else?" Joan asked.

"What?"

"You are one of the best people I've ever known, which is saying something because I've known a lot of amazing people. You're going to get through this and you're going to be just fine."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"How do I look?"

Adam and Joan glanced up to see Grace standing in her doorway. She had on a sharp, black evening pants suit that flattered her figure impeccably. "Wow," Adam said.

"You look great," Joan added.

"Good. Thanks." Grace consulted her watch. "He should be here any min . . ." A knock interrupted her statement. "He's punctual." She sounded surprised.

"Um, Grace?" Joan said. She didn't really know what to say, she just wanted reassurance that her friend knew what she was doing.

Grace turned at the door, her eyebrow raised. Joan knew this look. It was the look Grace used to silently warn people to shut up and back off. If nothing else, Grace had developed subtlety over the years. "Yes?"

"Have a good time," Joan said, holding back her sigh.

"Thank you. I will." Then she opened the door and left with her date.

After a moment, Adam said, "That was weird."

"Yup."

"Something is definitely up with her."

"Mm-hmm."

"What are we going to do about it?"

Turning her attention back to Adam, she said, "We wait."

"Ah," Adam said with a nod. "We're sticking to the original plan."

"It's Grace."

"Right."

"So," she said, clearly to change the subject.

"Yeah?"

"I'm hungry. Are you hungry?"

Adam smiled at her. "Food sounds good."

"Pizza or Chinese?"

"You have no idea how much that makes me miss New York."

"Yeah, yeah, and the answer is?" Joan asked, phone in hand.

"Pizza."

"I was hoping you'd say that." She dialed and quickly put in their order. "He said it should be here in thirty to forty-five minutes," she announced and hung up the phone.

Adam opened his arms to her and she settled into them. "What should we do for those thirty to forty-five minutes?"

"Something pleasant," she said.

"Obviously."

"And something necessary."

"What do you have in mind?"

Joan turned in his arms so that she could see his face. "Setting our wedding date. But only if you want to," she said hurriedly.

"Why wouldn't I want to?" he asked, bewildered.

"Well, with everything going on with your dad and all . . ."

"Hey," Adam interrupted, "that'll work itself out. Dad's recuperating. He's going to be fine."

"I know."

"I don't think he'd want us to put this off just because he got sick." He tilted her chin up and smiled down at her. "Besides, I really, really want to marry you and the sooner we start planning, the sooner it'll happen."

She couldn't have stopped the huge grin that spread across her face even if she'd wanted to. "I really, really want to marry you, too."

"Then let's set a date."


	7. October

A/N: I just want to say that I have nothing against bridal salons and I hope the characters are still in character. Enjoy.

As much as Helen loved art, there was one thing she absolutely despised about it: it was incredibly messy. She wandered around her sunlit classroom during her free period, picking up the stray sponges, brushes and tubes of paint her students had neglected to put up. If she'd thought picking up after three children and a husband was frustrating, it was nothing compared to doing so for twenty to thirty students class period after class period. She was really going to have to stress the importance of caring for the tools.

"Mom?"

Helen looked up to see Joan standing in her doorway. "Hi, honey."

"Hi." Joan gave her a weak smile. "Do you have a minute?"

"Sure." She gestured toward the table in front of her. "Have a seat."

Looking like she was dragging all of the world's problems behind her, Joan trudged into the room and sank into a chair. "You know how I've always said I wasn't crazy?"

"Uh, yeah."

"I was wrong."

Pulling a stool up to the opposite side of the table, Helen sat and gave her daughter a sympathetic pat on the arm. "What changed your mind?"

Joan chuckled despondently. "The fact that I agreed to plan Adam's and my dream wedding by April. What was I thinking? Six months. How am I supposed to plan a wedding in six months? An outdoor wedding on top of that. In Maryland. I must be so many levels of insane, I'd baffle psychologists the world over."

"Oh, honey." Joan whimpered and dropped her head on her folded arms. "It's going to be fine."

"Ha!" her daughter cried without raising her head. "That's what you say. I'm never going to pull this off."

"Honey . . ."

"No, Mom, really," Joan insisted as she lifted her head. "There's too much: I have to choose a caterer, a reception site, a minister, a color scheme. Is it going to formal, semiformal, or informal? Morning, noon, or night? Chicken or fish? And that's not even the half of it? How do people do this? I can't even find a dress."

"You're always welcome to mine," Helen offered. Joan gave her a don't-go-there look. They'd tried that already. Helen's elaborate, ballroom-like gown was so not Joan. That had been made blatantly clear when she'd tried it on. She'd looked like a reject from a bad '80s music video. It had been laughable. "It can be modified, Joan."

"I know and it's a beautiful dress. But, by the time I finished 'modifying' it, it would be unrecognizable. I'll find something else." Joan sighed and gave her mom another weak smile. "Well, thanks for listening to me."

"Anytime," Helen said, covering Joan's hands with hers. "You're not alone in this, you know? I planned a wedding myself once upon a time."

"I know."

"And even though she has her hands full with Trevor . . ."

"He is a handful."

"Rebecca planned her and Kevin's wedding. Not only that, but she has incredible contacts as the _Herald_'s editor."

"That's true," Joan admitted with a nod.

Helen smiled mischievously. "And Grace, well, Grace will help you keep your sense of humor."

"How? By mocking me the entire way to the altar?"

"Well, there is something hilarious about the mania most brides go through," Helen conceded. "But think of it this way: imagine how much fun it'll be to return the favor when it's her turn."

Joan gasped. "Mom. That's mean."

"True, but thinking about is entertaining." Helen snickered. "Can't you just see Grace on the verge of ripping her hair out because the caterers served her father pork at the reception?"

Joan's mouth formed a perfect O. "That's just wrong."

"Very wrong," Helen agreed, struggling to keep a straight face.

"But so funny," Joan said before bursting into laughter, effectively shattering the last of Helen's composure.

Helen savored the moment of mother-daughter camaraderie. There had been times when Joan was in high school herself when Helen thought they'd never have a relationship like this. It made knowing that her daughter would seek her out for comfort that much sweeter. As they both got a hold of themselves, she squeezed Joan's hands. "I have an idea."

"Yeah?"

"Why don't we all get together and do something fun this weekend: you, me, Grace, and Rebecca if she can? We could make a day of it."

Joan scrunched her nose, clearly unsure. "Something wedding-related?"

"Yes. Something to show you that it isn't all stressful. In fact," she said, warming up to the topic, "it could be a browsing day. No decision-making, no buying, no planning. Just looking. What do you say?" She gave Joan her brightest smile, willing her to say yes.

"I guess it could be fun," Joan said after considering for a moment. "I don't have anything else to do. And Adam's in New York. Why not? Let's do it."

"Great," Helen exclaimed before letting go of Joan's hands and getting up. "I promise you'll have a good time."

* * *

"Where are we going again?" Joan asked from the back seat of her mother's car.

"It's a surprise," Helen answered for the fourth time since she started driving.

"Can't I have a hint?"

"It's wedding-related," Grace offered from the front passenger seat. "How's that for a hint?"

Joan made a face at the back of Grace's seat. "Ha, ha. Very funny."

"We're almost there, Joan," Helen said with good-natured exasperation. "Just relax."

With a resigned sigh, Joan reclined in her seat and decided to enjoy the ride. Helen and Grace had taken her to a lovely bakery for a wedding cake tasting session. Rebecca couldn't come because she was working. Joan considered taking Adam to the bakery when he got back in town, but only to get his opinion. As it was, she was still on a sugar high from the delicious samples.

Five minutes later, her mother turned into a parking lot and stopped the car. "We're here."

"Finally," Grace mumbled and got out of the vehicle.

"Where are we?" Joan asked as she stepped out of her mother's car. They were standing in front of a—Joan turned toward the building and saw the wedding gowns in the display window—bridal salon. "Oh."

"Now, Joan," Helen said as she came around to her daughter's side, "it's not what you think. Remember, no decision-making, only browsing."

"I don't know."

"Oh, come on, Girardi," Grace called over her shoulder. She was halfway to the store. "I thought you liked shopping."

Despite her reluctance to enter the building, Joan followed behind her friend and mother. "I do like shopping. I just don't enjoy shopping for the most important dress I'll ever buy. Too much pressure."

Helen wrapped her arm around Joan's shoulder. "I understand, but we're just seeing what's out there. Getting an idea of what your options are. So calm down."

"Okay." Joan knew she was being silly. It was just dress shopping, no, browsing. Nothing to get uptight about. Except that she'd been fantasizing about her wedding off and on for years, more on than off. And, in each and every fantasy, she walked down the aisle in some dress she couldn't quite make out. But the expression on Adam's face—it was always Adam's face—told her that it was the perfect dress. In her fantasy, she had never looked better in her life. She was luminous. Gorgeous. A magnificent bride of epic, legendary proportions. It was incredibly vain, but this was important to her. It had to be right. She couldn't explain it, but she didn't feel like she would find even an adequate dress in a bridal shop, let alone _the_ dress. With all of this weighing on her mind, Joan plodded after her mom and entered the salon, her eyes carefully averted.

"Welcome to Michel's," a tall blonde in an impeccable skirt suit said as Joan caught up with the others. "My name is Vivian. How can I help you today?"

"My daughter's getting married," Helen said as she tugged Joan to her side.

"Congratulations."

"Thank you," Helen replied. "We thought we'd stop by and see what sort of services you offer."

"Michel's is a full-service salon," the woman began and led the trio further into the shop. She continued her spiel, but Joan wasn't listening. Her eyes were trained on the woman's back while she tried to calm her racing heart. _You're just looking. No commitments, no decisions. You're just getting an idea of what you want for your wedding. What's more, _she told herself, _there's other stuff here besides wedding gowns. Come on, Girardi. Stop being such an idiot and look around. _

Cautiously, Joan moved her eyes from Vivian the saleswoman's back and glanced around the store. It was worse than she thought it'd be. She was surrounded by white gowns in every length and cut imaginable. Women milled around, some browsing like she was supposed to be. Others modeled potential dresses for their family and friends, none of which impressed Joan.

Everywhere she turned there were shoes and lingerie, tiaras and veils, purses and flower girl baskets. Everyone seemed to be smiling and happy. Joan felt like she'd stepped into a horror movie at the moment the protagonist stumbles on the big secret. The camera spins around revealing each new terror in dizzying, sickening glimpses until the lead character tries to run screaming from the room, only to find that getting out won't be as easy as getting in. Joan's breath hitched at the thought of being irrevocably stuck in this Stepford world she'd been coerced into.

"Now, if you'll just follow me," Vivian began as she headed towards a back room, "we'll get you all set up."

For some reason, Joan did not want to enter any back rooms in this place. Who knew what they had stashed there: a battery of avid caterers and musicians and florists all vying for her attention, forcing her into spontaneous, irreversible decisions. A part of her brain reminded her that she was being ridiculous and that her insane reaction might just be the sugar high talking, but the majority of her mind kept replaying scenes from various _Stepford_ movies. Why did they make a series of them anyway? "Uh, that's okay," Joan said, her eyes huge and round. "That won't be necessary."

Helen gave her daughter a questioning look. "Joan?"

"Really, Mom. It's okay."

"You sure?" Grace asked. "You're looking a little manic."

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I just," she broke off with a nervous laugh, "I can't do this."

"Do what?" Helen asked.

Trying to contain the panic rising inside her, Joan gestured a little wildly at the store. "This. I can't do this," she stammered. "I can't do the all-in-one wedding stop thing."

"Joan."

"No, see, it's okay. I have a plan," she declared. "Adam and I, we'll elope. Yes, we'll elope. Hop on a plane to Vegas and get married in one of those tacky, little chapels by a fat Elvis in a white, rhinestone-studded jumpsuit. You'll see, it'll be fine. Great, even. We'll send postcards."

She was vaguely aware of Grace's struggle not to laugh, but it was Helen's appalled expression that held her attention. "You can't get married by Elvis, Joan."

"Why not? At the rate I'm going, my wedding's going to be a disaster anyway. I may as well have a crazy, Vegas wedding."

"Rove'll never go for it," Grace said, her voice shaking with suppressed laughter.

"Neither will I," Helen said as she folded her arms across her chest. "Your father certainly won't."

"And you'd always regret being married by a pudgy Elvis instead of having the family wedding you know you want," Grace added.

"A fat Elvis," Joan corrected quietly, pouting as the mania began to fade. "Get it right."

Eyes watering, Grace choked out, "I'll meet you in the car." She didn't even make to the door before she burst out laughing.

Helen slipped her arm around Joan's drooping shoulders. "Want to tell me what's wrong?"

"I told you; I don't know what I'm doing. The wedding's going to be a disaster." Joan gave a rueful laugh. "I can't do this."

"Of course, you can," Helen assured as she rubbed her daughter's shoulder. "If nothing else, you are a very capable young woman. I have no doubt that you can do this."

"Really?"

"Really."

Joan sighed and leaned into her mother's side. "It's just that I'm not marrying some guy it'd be nice to spend the rest of my life with. It's Adam. I say 'I love you' to him and it doesn't come close to what I actually feel, what I've always felt. I'm afraid that instead of the unique and deeply personal wedding I want us to have, it'll be some generic, cookie-cutter version that even he won't remember."

"Oh, honey, I promise that won't happen."

"I can only hope."

After a moment of silence, Helen said, "What about hiring a wedding planner?"

"Not in the budget. And I feel like I should do it myself. I mean, who knows Adam and me better than Adam and me?"

"Well, if you need help, I'm here."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome," Helen said, kissing Joan's temple. "Now go on to the car. I'm going to go find Vivian."

Joan looked around, startled to realize that the saleswoman was on the other side of the room. "When did she leave?"

"Some time between you looking at her like she was evil incarnate and your decision to elope."

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Helen said, giving Joan a little push toward the door. "You flipped out. I'm sure she's used to that sort of thing. Besides, that was nowhere near as bad as the one you're going to have closer to the wedding."

"Great," Joan muttered and headed for the parking lot.

* * *

"So," Rebecca said, handing Joan a glass of wine and settling on the sofa next to her, "you need my advice on something?"

"Yeah." Joan took a fortifying sip of her wine. "I don't know if you heard but I sort of had a little breakdown at a bridal salon today."

"Sorry." Rebecca remembered when she was planning her and Kevin's wedding. She hadn't liked bridal salons either. "They can be a bit . . ."

"Scary."

"I was going to say intimidating."

Joan nodded. "That too. So how did you do it?"

Rebecca arched an eyebrow, a little confused. "Go into a bridal store?"

"What? Oh, no. No. I meant how did you plan your wedding without going nuts?"

"I didn't." Seeing Joan's face fall, Rebecca figured she'd have to elaborate. "The insanity is pretty much unavoidable."

"Great. On the day of my destined-to-be-crappy wedding, I'm going to be out of my mind as well." Joan collapsed back on the sofa and took another sip of wine. "Perfect."

Rebecca bit back a smile. Her sister-in-law had always been a bit dramatic, but she understood what the younger woman was going through. A woman's wedding is the one day in her life when she gets to be the fairy-tale bride. This, of course, meant that every detail had to be just right. "I can't do anything about the insanity, but I think I can help with the wedding part."

"Really?" Joan asked, hope flaring in her eyes once again. "I'll be indebted to you forever if you can."

"The first thing you need is a unified vision."

Joan stared blankly at Rebecca. "A unified vision?"

Nodding, she said, "How long have you been planning so far?"

"A couple of weeks."

"And it's not going well."

"I feel like I'm guessing, you know?" Joan scrunched her nose, trying to find the right words. "It's like I'm a little girl planning a wedding for my dolls, except that whatever I choose actually applies. Does that make any sense?"

"Yeah. It all comes back to your vision of your wedding." Rebecca patted Joan's arm sympathetically. "You have no idea what you want it to be like, do you?"

"I've been fantasizing about my wedding for years," Joan said indignantly. "Unfortunately, the only constants are Adam and it's held outdoors."

"In early April?"

"All part of the insanity. He doesn't want to wait and the third's right before Spring Break, so we'll have a week for the honeymoon."

Laughing, Rebecca said, "Okay. Whatever you say. This is what I want you to do. Close your eyes and imagine your wedding. Start with Adam and the outdoors and work from there."

"But what if we can't afford . . ."

"Don't worry about your budget," Rebecca instructed. "Right now you're attempting to figure out what your dream wedding is. Try to get an idea of how big it is, how formal, who's there. What does the place look like, who's the officiant, are there any special traditions or rituals you want to include, is there a theme? That's the sort of thing you're determining right now. Once you have a basic idea, you can start refining and such."

Joan merely looked at Rebecca, her eyes full of doubt.

Rebecca smiled. "Go on. Close your eyes. I'll be right back." She got up, amused to see the skeptical frown on Joan's face and headed for the basement. She was sure she'd put the box down there somewhere.

Though she didn't want to discourage her, Rebecca didn't pity Joan the task she'd set for herself. Rebecca had had a year and a half to plan her wedding and it had taken her six months just to figure out that she'd need more than an armload of bridal magazines if she was going to pull it off. Once she'd mentally created her dream wedding, she'd then had to plan the thing. By the time the big day had arrived, Rebecca had been on the verge of full-scale madness. Locating the box, she hefted it into her arms and made her way back upstairs. Joan seemed to have reached the point of near-insanity already. She was going to need all the help and guidance she could get.

When Rebecca reached the living room, Joan was reclining on the sofa, her wineglass cradled casually in her hand. The frown that had marred her brow had been replaced by an almost imperceptible smile. Smiling herself, Rebecca quietly set the box on the coffee table, removed the lid, and sat down to wait for Joan to open her eyes. "Got it?" she asked when Joan finally looked at her with shining eyes.

"Yes," Joan said, sounding remarkably calm. "Thank you."

Dismissing her thanks with a wave, Rebecca said, "That's just phase one."

"Phase one?" Joan asked with a laugh. "I'm supposed to be planning a wedding, not marching on Rome."

"Be that as it may, it's now time for phase two." Rebecca urged Joan closer to the carton on the table. "In this box is everything you'll need to plan a fabulous wedding in Arcadia."

"What is all this?" Joan asked, her voice awed as she rummaged through the contents.

"That is all the information I complied while planning my wedding. Suggestions people gave me, my notes on various vendors, contact lists, copies of contracts, a timeline, and my organizer among other things." She laughed at Joan's stunned expression. "All of this was just as much a part of the big day as the pictures and my bouquet."

Pulling a pen and a notebook out of the box, Rebecca flipped through it until she found a blank page. "So, Joan, tell me: what does your unified vision look like?"


	8. November

Adam lifted his face to the crisp autumn breeze blowing through the graveyard, willing away the residual fatigue of just two hours' sleep. He hadn't slept well since the beginning of the month. His insomnia was mostly a result of the melancholia that descended on him every November, but the current changes in his life were contributing as well, especially the situation with his father. He'd been trying to reconcile himself to his dad's new relationship but a childish part of him insisted on maintaining his resistance.

"What am I going to do about Dad?" he asked his mom as he absently ran his fingers through the grass. He had been sitting Indian-style beside his mother's headstone for the last half-hour, wishing she could solve the problem for him. "I guess the real question is what am I going to do about me. Jane says to give it time. I'll get used to the idea of Dad being with someone else soon enough. She's probably right, but it's hurting him now. I hate hurting him."

Sighing, Adam began shredding grass blades. "I suppose she's nice enough. She's a cosmetology teacher. Wears practically no makeup but her hair is always beautiful. She doesn't look anything like you. She's short with blondish-gray hair. She reminds me of Rose on _The Golden Girls_. Did Dad tell you this already? Do you know? Do you care?" The question brought him up short. Did she care? She'd been gone for so long. Maybe she was just happy that Carl had found someone to share his life with. Maybe she'd moved on and didn't even know what was going on with them. Either possibility meant that Adam was holding on—no, clinging—to something that had nothing to do with his mom and everything to do with wanting the impossible—his mom back. In both cases, he was being a jerk.

"Let's talk about something else," he said, not wanting to ponder the questions he suddenly had. "Jane's in full wedding-planning mode. It's kinda cute and really scary at the same time. Every time I've seen her for the last month, she has her hair up in a messy twist with at least two pencils stuck in it and a pair of reading glasses on her nose, which she doesn't need. She won't let me see them, but I've heard that she has lists with jobs for everybody. Everybody but me, that is. Whenever I ask what she wants me to do, she says she has it under control and to focus on Dad and getting set up in Arcadia. I'm not sure if she's being considerate or if she's afraid I'll mess up whatever she asked me to do. Then again, maybe I'm lucky she hasn't given me anything to do. Everybody's calling her the General. I'm pretty sure they're justified."

He fell silent again, letting the idea of Joan and the upcoming wedding fill his thoughts. This was easier than thinking about his family. Despite his "emotional breakthrough" this summer, Adam still wasn't accustomed to dealing with his feelings about his family. He'd spent so much of his life compartmentalizing them that he wasn't entirely sure what to do with them now that they were constantly cropping up at the forefront of his life.

"I'm sorry to dump all this on you. I didn't want our visit to be a pity session. It's just . . ." Adam's watch alarm beeped. His time was up. "Looks like I have to go now. I'm meeting Grace and Jane at the house." Reluctantly, Adam got to his feet, then hesitated. He didn't want to leave yet; he'd missed his talks with his mom. But he knew he was stalling. _It's not that big a deal_, he told himself.

Shrugging off his lack of enthusiasm as another part of his November sadness, he leaned down and tucked the sculpture he'd made more securely against the base of her gravestone. "I love you, Mom. Happy birthday."

* * *

"What bride in her right mind volunteers to clean her future father-in-law's attic in the middle of planning the wedding?" Grace asked as she drove toward the Rove house.

With a sarcastic laugh, Joan replied, "There's no such thing as a bride in her right mind, apparently."

"Okay. I'll give you that. But how did I get roped into helping?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Joan asked. "You never tell me anything. All I know for sure is that you didn't have a date today and you'll do just about anything for Adam."

Grace scoffed. "That's not true."

"Right," Joan offered with a smirk. "Maybe you're just getting soft in your old age."

"Shut it, General."

Grimacing in Grace's direction (she really hated the family's new nickname for her), Joan turned her attention back to the road. She'd successfully avoided the question, but found herself searching for an answer. _Clean out Carl's attic_. That was God' s latest edict. She hadn't seen Him since the night of the art show and, when He does show up, He tells her to clean an attic. _He's still recovering and shouldn't take on such a large job himself_. While she agreed, she didn't see why she should do it especially with everything else going on. But just in case she was meant to prevent a tragic house fire, she'd mentioned it to Adam, who said he'd clean it out over the weekend. Next thing she knew, both she and Grace were signed on to help. The Three Amigos, together again.

Silently, Grace pulled her battered Jeep Wrangler up in front of the Rove house and climbed out, Joan straggling along behind her. She was not looking forward to today's task but had no idea what daunted her about it.

She'd just made it to the porch when Adam opened the door. "Hey," he greeted quietly. "Dad's still sleeping. Follow me."

He led the way upstairs, Joan lagging behind. When she saw the dusty disarray of the Rove attic, she stopped wondering at her unwillingness. There were at least five decades of family artifacts cluttering the huge space. If nothing else, she was going to end the day hot, dirty, and exhausted.

"Geez, Rove," Grace commented, looking at the haphazard piles of boxes and furniture. "Were you guys blindfolded with one arm tied behind your backs when you did this?"

"No. We just don't like to stay up here for long."

"Are you afraid?" Grace asked. She had ventured further into the room and gingerly picked up a ratty, ancient trench coat. "Because you should be. Very, very afraid."

"Let's just get started," Joan said tersely. She ignored their perplexed looks and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She didn't know what she expected, but she felt that something major was going to happen up here. Something major always came out of God's little assignments. All she wanted was to get it over with, so she wouldn't feel so unsteady.

With a final questioning look, Adam pointed out different areas of the attic as he spoke. "I figured we'd each take a section of the room: I'll take the left, Jane's in the middle, and you're on the right, Grace."

Grace shrugged indifferently. "Sounds like a plan."

"I got us some gloves and trash bags. Most of this stuff can be given away, I guess. We're never going to use it again. The rest can be thrown out."

Joan rubbed her hands over her arms, wondering why she was so weirded out by Adam's attic. "Is there anything special we should look out for? Something you don't want thrown out?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head and rubbed his hand over her back. "Are you okay?" he whispered as Grace waded into her part of the mess.

"I'm fine," Joan answered, trying to turn away and get to work.

Adam wouldn't let her go. "Jane, you don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"It's not that."

"Then what is it?" he asked gently.

She shrugged. "I just feel a weird vibe up here. That's all, really. I'm okay."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

Adam stared at her for a moment as if he were gauging how honest she was being with him. Finally, he sighed and nodded. "Okay. Put these on," he instructed, handing her a pair of work gloves.

Slipping on her gloves, she was about to head off into her section when his hand on her elbow stopped her. She turned toward him, eyebrows raised in question. "Thanks for doing this," he said, moving closer to her.

"You're welcome."

"I know you really don't want to."

She tried to come up with a way to deny that without lying and came up empty.

He smiled at her and bent so that his lips were next to her ears. "I don't want to either."

Joan chuckled.

"I'm positive Grace doesn't."

She began laughing despite the lingering creeped-out feeling.

"Maybe I'll give her a fruit basket for helping."

"A fruit basket?" Joan asked, incredulous. When he nodded, she put a fist on her hip and glared up at him. "And what do I get?"

Adam bent down and gave her a soft, lingering kiss. "How's that?"

"I don't know," she said. "How big a fruit basket are you thinking of giving her?"

With a laugh, he took her lips in another long kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close. He stroked his thumb across the small of her back and she moaned.

"Are you two going to play tonsil hockey all day or help me?"

Reluctantly ending the kiss, Adam hugged Joan to him a minute longer. "Her fruit basket just got smaller," he said before disappearing into the junk on his side of the attic.

Biting her lip to keep from laughing, Joan dug into her section feeling better than she had all morning.

* * *

By mid-afternoon, Adam was hot, tired, and heartsick. Cleaning the attic was a trip down memory lane that he didn't want to take right now. Every box seemed to hold yet another reminder of his mother: a book of poetry here, a waft of perfume there. For the last fifteen minutes, he'd been staring at an old photograph of the two of them. He'd been about ten years old at the time. She had hoisted him in the air by his waist and spun him around until they were both dizzy and laughing. They'd collapsed in a cozy, happy heap in the backyard. It had been a good day.

He traced his finger over her glowing face: her cheeks full like his, her chin cleft, her rosebud mouth open in laughter like his. _Were you happy that day?_ he wondered. _Or were you just pretending for my sake?_ Slipping the photo in his back pocket, Adam got up and stretched the ache out of his muscles. "Jane? Grace?"

"Yeah," they answered in unison, their heads popping up through the debris like gophers on a golf course.

"I'm going to go get something to drink? Want me to bring something back?"

"Water," they chorused. He stifled a smile and headed for the stairs. They'd been together too long.

As he descended the stairs, he felt the weight of his memories ease. By the time he reached the first floor, the tension had left his neck and shoulders. Sunlight streamed into the living room and Adam realized how late it was. He hadn't seen his father all day. Thinking he'd be on the porch, Adam headed for the front door, but the sound of ice hitting glass drew him to the kitchen.

He was surprised to find Sharon filling three tall glasses with ice and setting them on a tray. Hoping she hadn't noticed him, Adam began to back out of the room.

"Good afternoon, Adam," she said without looking up from her task.

He paused and straightened to his full height. "Hi, Sharon."

Sharon took a pitcher of tea out of the refrigerator and began to fill the glasses. "You three have been working awfully hard today. How's it coming along?" She dropped a fresh lemon wedge in each glass.

Wondering when they'd gotten lemons, he said, "It's fine. We're making progress."

"Do you think you'll finish today?"

"No, ma'am."

Nodding, Sharon put the pitcher back. "Well, I thought you all would be ready for a break. You've been up there all day without taking a single break."

"You've been here all day?"

"I came to keep your father company."

"Oh." He didn't know what he'd expected, for his dad to sit by himself until . . . what? What did he expect his dad to do while he was immersed in his own life? Standing awkwardly by the counter watching Sharon bustle about the kitchen, Adam realized he didn't like this self-centered side of himself at all.

"I've been wanting to talk to you, Adam." Sharon's tone was that of a mother preparing to lecture her child and he felt his hackles rise.

"About?"

She turned to face him, one hand resting lightly on the counter while the other sat on her hip. "My relationship with your father." When he didn't say anything, Sharon forged on. "I know you have problems with it. I understand this is the first time you've had to deal with your father having a relationship and that this must be difficult for you to accept. But your father's a grown man. He doesn't need to get your permission to live his life anymore than you need to get his."

Through clenched teeth, Adam said, "Okay." He folded his arms across his chest as if holding himself back as well as together. He didn't know what it was about Sharon, but he always felt like a petulant teenager around her instead of the adult that he was.

"That said, it isn't my intention to come between you two. He loves you and he wants you to be happy."

"I know," he answered, resisting the urge to kick at the floor like a five-year-old. "I want him to be happy, too."

"He isn't and he hasn't been for some time."

"I'm trying. There's just a lot going on, okay, and I'm . . . I'm trying."

Sharon didn't respond. She simply watched him, determining some unknown equation before she decided what to say next. He found it disturbing the way being around her unsettled him. Finally, she said, "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay." She opened a loaf of bread and began making sandwiches. "I want you to know that I do care about him. He's a good man—kind, gentle. I hear the same thing about you. He insists that you'll come around. I hope he's right. Carl said you're not too fond of mayonnaise; what about your friends?"

The abrupt change of topic caught him off-guard. "I'm sorry?"

"Mayonnaise—do Joan and Grace like mayonnaise on their sandwiches?"

"Uh, yes, ma'am, they do."

"And turkey's okay, right?"

Adam just nodded.

"Good." She picked up two of the glasses of tea and handed them to Adam before taking a sip out of the third one. At his inquiring look, she said, "I just decided to make the sandwiches and realized that the tea would be watery by the time I finished. Your father's on the porch."

"Okay," he said, turning to leave. "Um, the girls wanted water."

"I'll make a pitcher."

"Thank you," he said, leaving before she changed the subject again.

"You're welcome, Adam."

Carefully keeping his mind blank—he didn't want to think about the talk he'd just had with Sharon, confusing and uncomfortable as it had been—he made his way out to the porch. His father sat in his usual chair bundled up in a heavy overcoat, reading the paper.

"Um, hi, Dad," Adam said. He handed his father one of the frosty glasses. When his father lifted an eyebrow in question, he shrugged and said, "Sharon decided to make sandwiches."

"Ah," Carl replied as if the explanation made sense. "Thanks."

Adam set down his glass next to his dad's discarded one and leaned against the porch rail. He wrapped his arms around himself, huddling slightly to ward off the cold.

"You shouldn't be out here without a coat, son."

"I know." Adam watched Carl. He knew something was on his father's mind; he could tell but the slight frown on his face. Whatever it was, he hoped it wasn't anything too heavy though he was certain it was. "What is it?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to go see your mom with me tonight," Carl said softly. "I've gotten in the habit of visiting her at sunset."

"I went already." He smiled ruefully at his father. "At sunrise."

"Her favorite times of the day."

"Yeah." Father and son fell silent. Adam felt the chasm between them temporarily shrink as they thought about Elizabeth. It would sadden her to see them like this: awkward, unsure, dancing around each other's feelings. It saddened him, too. "I'll go."

Carl shook his head, waving off his son's offer. "You don't have to. You went already."

"But it'd be nice if we went together. We haven't done that in a long time."

"Are you sure you'll have time?"

Though he knew it wasn't his father's intention, Adam suddenly felt guilty. He'd been spending a great deal of time away from the house. Most of it was legitimate: he had been meeting with various art dealers in Baltimore and D. C., trying to find someone he'd be comfortable with. But the rest, the nights he spent with Grace and Joan and her family, were merely avoidance tactics—a feeble, selfish attempt to distract himself from the changes going on in his life. If he were completely honest with himself, he'd also been sulking. He still felt kind of useless around the house with Sharon's continued housekeeping efforts. Now he realized he'd let his volatile emotions blind him to the fact that his dad just wanted to spend time with him. "I'll have time."

Nodding, Carl started to stand. Adam stepped forward to help when Carl waved him back. "I'm only getting out of a chair. You two are going to have to let me do things on my own if I'm going to get better," he admonished.

He backed off and watched his father slowly get to his feet.

Carl stared at him for a moment before smiling and patting Adam's cheek. "You're a good man."

"So are you, Dad."

"I hate to interrupt," Sharon's voice said from the doorway, "but I finished the sandwiches. I added some cookies, too."

"Thanks." He opened the screen door for her, letting her come out before going in. "Hey, Dad? I'll be ready in about an hour. Is that good for you?"

"That'll be fine."

Taking the heavily loaded tray off of the kitchen counter, Adam took his time going back up to the attic. He figured they'd call it quits for the day and have lunch together before Joan and Grace left and he got ready to go to the cemetery with his dad. He was halfway up the attic steps when he heard Joan's voice.

"Look at this."

Adam stretched so he could see her. She stood in the middle of the attic holding an ivory silk dress with a bodice embroidered in gold leaves up against her so that Grace could see it.

"This dress is gorgeous," Joan said, swaying side to side. The skirt swirled around her legs.

"I remember that," Grace said, sounding surprised. "She wore it for an anniversary or something like that. Rove and I were hanging out in the living room and she comes in wearing it. She asked if she should wear her hair up or down."

"Up," Joan answered.

Grace nodded, a nostalgic smile flirting at the corner of her mouth. "That what's Rove and I said. Next thing I knew, we'd been recruited to help her get ready: choosing jewelry, makeup, hair clips and shoes."

"You helped?" Joan asked. Adam smiled at the disbelief in her voice.

"Yeah, well," Grace shrugged, "Mrs. Rove had a way of making even girly things seem fun and exciting instead of the excruciating bore they really are. Anyway, when we're done, she stands and models for us. Rove's just sitting there looking at her like she's the Madonna come back to Earth. So, Mrs. Rove turns to me and says 'Do you think Mr. Rove will like it?' I nodded and said I was sure he would."

Joan smiled. "How old were you guys?"

"Eleven or twelve." Grace propped her chin in her hand and wandered deeper into the memory. "She looked so pretty. Believe it or not, Rove looks a lot like her. Not to say that he's a pretty boy or anything, but he's definitely his mother's son."

"Sorry it took me so long," Adam said loudly as he continued up the stairs. With a smile pasted firmly on his lips, he noticed Joan hurriedly stuff the dress in a nearby box while Grace sprang up from her position on the floor. "Sharon was making a tray for us and got a little carried away."

"That was nice of her," Joan said, watching him set the tray on a box. "Wow. I hadn't realized how hungry I am until just now. I'm going to go wash my hands."

"I'll come with you," Grace said. The pair fled down the stairs.

Adam stared after them for a moment; he knew they felt awkward about talking about his mom. With a sigh, he sat down facing the stairs and waited.

A minute later, they made their way up the stairs, hesitating when they saw him sitting behind the box.

"We should eat," he said. "Come on."

Cautiously, they went and sat down facing him. They ate in silence. Finally, the uncomfortable silence became too much for him. "We need to talk."

"We're not going to finish the attic today," Joan said.

Grace rolled her eyes at her roommate. "That was a given. You saw this place when we got here. It was worse than a disaster site."

"I meant," Adam began, enunciating each word, "we need to talk about this." He pulled the picture he'd found out of his back pocket and laid it in the middle of the tray so they could see it.

"Grace, I've known you all my life. You're my oldest friend. Jane, I'm in love with you. I plan to spend the rest of my life with you. If there's anybody in the world I should be able to talk to about my mom, it's you two and my dad. And you should feel comfortable talking about her around me."

"But you don't talk about her, Rove."

"She's right," Joan chimed in. "In all the time we were together, you only told me a few things. It was always so painful for you. It just seemed kinder not to talk about her."

"I get that. But the three of us should be past secrets now. The big ones, anyway."

"Your mom isn't a secret," Joan said quietly.

"Maybe not to Grace, but did you know that my mom loved literature, especially plays and poetry? In the fall and winter, she'd read Marlowe and Shakespeare and Shaw to me. She'd do all the voices and explain things to me when I didn't understand. Then we'd do the scenes over together. Sometimes she'd read me poetry for months on end, mostly the Romantics and the Victorian poets. She said they had a passion for life that was unparalleled, but that their fatal flaw was their inability to find a happy medium. 'Constantly being in the throes of passion or the depths of despair takes its toll on the body and the mind. If one lives like that for too long, one begins to crave absolute peace and quiet at any cost despite the consequences. Learn to live, but find your middle ground so that your highs and lows won't drag you under.'"

Adam fell silent as the three wondered if that was what happened to Elizabeth, if she'd failed to take her own advice. He took a sip of water before continuing. "In the summer, we'd open the windows in the living room, turn out all the lights and camp out. She had this thing about actual camping—said the possibility of bugs and worms crawling on her while she slept freaked her out. But in the living room, we'd tell each other ghost stories with flashlights and sound effects and try to toast marshmallows over candles. On the weekends, we'd go roller-skating or people-watching in the park or to the zoo. Once we convinced Grace to come with us and . . ."

"If you finish that sentence, I swear I'll tell Joan about that time in third grade when Melissa Warren told the whole school you . . ."

"Okay, okay. No need to go there," Adam exclaimed, holding his hands up.

"But your mom was really cool about the whole zoo thing," Grace added with a small smile.

Joan looked from one to the other and said, "You do realize you two just had a whole conversation that I didn't understand." When neither Grace nor Adam seemed inclined to explain, she threw up her hands and pouted. "Fine, don't tell me."

Smiling at Joan's dramatics, he said, "Sometimes my mom would just watch me. One day—I was eleven at the time—I asked her why she did that and she said she was looking for herself in me. I didn't really know what she meant but Dad gave her this odd look, one of his 'Lizzie-honey-are-you-all-right?' looks. She ignored it and sat on the floor across from me. We spent the next fifteen minutes comparing ourselves to each other and to Dad. It seems I have his nose and eyes."

"You do," Grace said. Joan just smiled.

"She used to call me her darling boy," he said softly. "I'm telling you all this because, yeah, some of my memories of my mom are bittersweet and some just hurt. But most of them are really good. They're happy memories. They're a part of me and I don't want you to think that you have to always tiptoe around it or me." With that, Adam picked up the picture and put it back in his pocket. Then, he wrapped his uneaten sandwich in a napkin, stood and picked up his glass of water. "I promised Dad I'd go see Mom with him at sunset so I should go get cleaned up."

He pressed a kiss to Joan's cheek and headed for the stairs. When he reached them, Joan called his name. "Yeah?" he said, turning toward her.

"Can I come with you? On the eleventh, not tonight."

"I tend to visit her at sunrise," he warned.

Joan crinkled her nose at the time. She did not like getting up that early, but she nodded and said, "I have to get up for work anyway."

"Are you sure?"

"Mm-hmm."

"I'd like that." He started to turn back to the stairs when the expression on Grace's face caught his attention. It was shuttered, the look she got when she was feeling particularly vulnerable and didn't know how to deal with the emotion. "You're coming with us, right, Grace?"

She stuck her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. "Uh, I don't know."

"You should. I want you to." He gave her a fond smile. "You visit her every year anyway; you may as well come with us."

"How did you know that?" Grace asked, clearly shocked. She'd never told him that she sometimes visited his mom.

Adam shrugged. "I know you." He'd trotted halfway down the stirs before calling over his shoulder, "And you can have the dress, Jane. It'd look good on you."


	9. December

A/N: So, chapter nine is unexpectedly a Grace and Luke-centric chapter. I warn you now that you will have questions. I have no answers. Grace and Luke continue to baffle me, not that you knew that. So if they're out of character, too darn bad. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Also, I've been lax. Thanks so much for your reviews. I do like them so.

Alexandri

Soft, shoulder-length hair framed a tastefully made up face. Long, silver earrings glinted in the lamplight. A silky, red, flutter-sleeve blouse topped a pair of black evening pants. Grace Polk was dressed for a party she wasn't sure she wanted to attend. Actually, she knew she didn't want to go; she just didn't know if she was going to go anyway. There were so many factors to consider. First, there were Mrs. Girardi's feelings. They were bound to be hurt if Grace didn't show up for the first time in nine years. Though she'd never admit it, Grace hated the idea of disappointing Mrs. Girardi. The woman just had that effect on her like anything was preferable to letting her down.

Then there was Joan. They had already had their confrontation.

"Since when don't you spend Christmas Eve with us?" Joan had asked after Grace announced her intention of not going.

"Since I promised _my_ family that I'd spend the day with them. Geez, Girardi, you do remember that I have one of my own, don't you? I'm not a pod person or a hatchling." It was a total lie; she hadn't promised her family any such thing, but Grace hoped that saying so would get Joan to back off, though she doubted it. Joan was as stubborn as Grace herself, maybe more so. "There's also the small fact that I'm Jewish and don't actually celebrate Christmas," she threw in for good measure.

"Well, so what? That's never stopped you before. And I've spent plenty Hanukahs with your family. You know we trade on the religious holidays." Slipping on an earring, Joan had scowled, much to Grace's amusement. If nothing else, Joan was a worthy sparring partner. "Everyone's expecting you to come. Mom will be so disappointed if you're not there tonight."

"That was low, Girardi. I thought we had an agreement after our last argument: no fighting dirty?" Grace headed for her bedroom. "Bringing out parent guilt is fighting dirty."

"She's not even your parent."

"She's everybody's parent."

"It doesn't matter whose parent she is," Joan had yelled, exasperated. "This isn't about her anyway. It's about Luke being home, isn't it?'

And there it was—the main factor in her decision not to go. Luke was home and Grace didn't know if she could bear to see him again.

"Look, Girardi, I can't come tonight. Tell your mom I'm sorry."

"Whatever falling out you and Luke had was years ago in high school. I'm sure he's over it. Come on, Grace, it won't be the same without you." When Grace had just stared at her silently, Joan had glared back. "Fine. Don't come. But I'm not doing your dirty work for you. You tell Mom you're sorry." Then she'd flounced out of the room. Grace suspected that Joan would send Adam to "talk some sense into her" when he arrived. She had discovered one of Grace's secret weaknesses: she _would_ do just about anything for Adam.

"But can I do this?" Grace whispered to the reflection in her dresser mirror. Could she face Luke after what happened the last time they'd seen each other five years ago?

_She never would have wound up on his doorstep if it hadn't been for the letter. One minute she's flipping through her mail, the next she's haphazardly shoving clothes into a duffel bag and driving mindlessly. She drove the entire way on autopilot, trusting her body to take her wherever she was going while her mind struggled to deal with the news in the letter. The only thing that she registered the entire trip was that her life had changed forever, again. _

_ Some eight hours later, she'd found herself standing in front of his apartment soaked by the icy, sleeting rain. Now that she was here, now that she realized where she had gone, Grace didn't know what to do next. Should she knock on his door? That was the most logical course of action, but what did she say when he asked why she was there? She didn't understand what had brought her here. Maybe she should just save herself the humiliation—get back in her car and go to a motel for the night. She could drive home in the morning. That's what she'd do—spend the night in a motel. Tomorrow she'd leave, go ahead with her Spring Break plans. No one would ever have to know about her stupid, impetuous road trip to the one person she shouldn't be seeing. _

_ Decision made, Grace turned to leave. Luke blocked her path, standing ten feet away protected by his umbrella. Somehow she knew he'd been there a while, watching her. How did she get out of this? Before she could decide, he stepped around her and unlocked his door. Without a word, he opened it and stood back so she could enter ahead of him. She hesitated. He didn't rush her, just shook out his umbrella before letting it down. She looked from him to the dark apartment. His lips twitched but he didn't smile; he simply hit the light switch. She entered the apartment._

"Grace?" a voice called accompanied by a knock.

Effectively taken out of her memories, Grace turned slightly toward the door. "Yeah?"

"Can I come in?" Adam asked.

Grace sighed and glanced at her watch. Right on time. May as well get it over with. "Yeah."

She watched the mirror as he entered and came to stand beside her. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his black slacks and stared at their reflections. "You know," she said after a long, quiet moment, "there was a time when neither of us would be caught dead dressed like this."

Adam smiled. "Unchallenged."

"What happened to us?"

"We grew up."

"I meant aside from that."

He shook his head. "Nothing."

"Hmm." They fell silent again. Grace noted his dark green sweater, one of the slim kind that emphasized the shoulders. "You can start whenever you're ready."

"Start what?"

"Didn't Joan send you in here to convince me to go to the party?"

"Yeah."

She glanced at him expectantly. "Well?"

"If there's one thing you've always been able to do, it's make your own choices."

"At least one of you recognizes that," she muttered.

Adam flashed her one of his little boy smiles. "Plus, I know you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that I understand things about you that Jane doesn't."

"Like what?"

He gave her a "come-on,-it's-me" look. "I remember when you were Grace Polanski. I know the secrets you still haven't told Jane."

"In all fairness, she hasn't told me about her relationship with God. I found out about it even before she told you and she still hasn't said a word in all this time."

"If it makes you feel better, she hasn't told anyone else either."

"I'm her best friend. She can trust me with her secrets," Grace pouted. She could do that with Adam. Like he said, he knew her, Polanski and Polk.

"Yes, best friends should trust each other with their secrets," he said pointedly. She glared at him. He smiled back. "But we're talking about you, not Jane."

"What about me?"

"Let's start with the fact that you're not going to your dad's tonight." When she didn't answer, Adam continued. "And we both know you _are_ going to the party. You're just trying to talk yourself out of it."

He was right. She knew deep down that she would eventually end up at the Girardis; she just hadn't expected him to know it. "How did you know?"

"Helen's a lot like your mom used to be when we were little. You hated disappointing her, too." Grace gaped at him. He shrugged. "I wasn't always oblivious, Grace. And, even when I was, I still paid attention to you, although it didn't seem like it."

Her face softened and she looked away, forgetting that they were still in front of the mirror. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For not being there for you after your mom died."

His sigh ruffled her hair as he put his arm around her shoulders. "We were kids and Mom's death changed both of us. I withdrew and your transformation into Grace Polk became permanent. And you were there for me, in your way."

"How?"

"You treated me normally. I was just your friend, not the kid whose mom killed herself."

"Hmm." Grace closed her eyes and laid her head on Adam's shoulder. She let his calm seep into her. It felt good to talk to him like this, to know he was so in tune with who she was. It felt good to be able to relax and be Grace, not Grace Polk or Grace Polanski. Just Grace.

"Don't take too long," he said as he squeezed her shoulder and released her.

"Take too long doing what?"

"Getting to the house." He grinned at her. "Helen and Jane, they'll worry."

Grace laughed. They would.

Adam ambled to the door. With his hand on the knob, he turned back to her, his brow furrowed. "I know what you're looking for." At her puzzled expression, he said, "All of the dating, I know what you're looking for. Thing is, I think you're looking in the wrong place."

"Where should I be looking?"

"At the party." Grace raised her eyebrows in question. "I think you found it a long time ago and you were too scared and too stubborn to accept the gift you'd been given."

She crossed her arms over her chest, determined not to let him see _that_ far into her. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He didn't back down like she'd hoped. "You and me, we don't talk. We don't explode. We hold everything in until it consumes us. That's why Jane and Luke get to us the way they do. They can't do that for long and they can't stand to let others do it either. It can be annoying but people like us need people like them. Let Luke be your Jane. You don't have to fall in love with him. Just be friends and let him heal you. See you at the party."

Then he was gone and Grace sank onto the side of her bed. She was a little dazed. She'd never realized how much Adam knew about her. _Let Luke be your Jane_. Did she have the courage to be that vulnerable with someone? Knowing that Adam could see into her so easily freaked her out and they'd known each other for as long as they could remember. Could she really be that open with another person?

_Let Luke be your Jane_. Grace sighed. It was going to be awhile before she made it to the party.

* * *

It felt odd being home again. Everything was different and familiar at the same time. Luke sat on the new swing on the front porch and let the quiet settle over him. He loved his family but sometimes they were too much for him. He wasn't antisocial but there were too many people inside. Too many thoughts and needs and desires filling the air, crowding him into a stuffy corner. Compared to the house, the biting December cold was a welcome change.

Of course, his present claustrophobia could simply be the result of unfamiliarity. Throughout most of his childhood, he'd been the overlooked one. Though he'd resented it, he was used to it, even comfortable. The last four days of attention lavished on him—and, to a lesser extent, his girlfriend Caroline—was an anomaly he hadn't been prepared for. Caroline bore it well. She was just as curious about his family as they were about her. But Luke, well, he was freezing on the front porch in search of alone time.

He would have to go in shortly. Dinner was over, the women were preparing the desserts and it would be time to exchange the traditional Christmas Eve gift. When he'd been a kid, he'd loved the tradition. As he'd gotten older, he found it depressing. His family meant well but they always got him something practical like a sweater or slides for his microscope. Sometimes he'd wished they'd used their imaginations and get him something unexpected, maybe even whimsical. Contrary to popular belief, he had a whimsical side. He just didn't indulge it often. He knew instinctively that if he did, he'd get lost in his wishes and fantasies. Physics had become his fantasy playground.

The sound of a car door slamming brought Luke out of his head and into the moment. Thinking it was a guest of one of the neighbors', he glanced toward the street. A young, petite blonde had parked in front of the house. She reached in the back of her beat-up Jeep and pulled out a large brown shopping bag. He turned his attention to the porch ceiling, letting his mind wander.

It wandered to the last time he'd seen Grace.

_She stood in the middle of his living room dripping water on the carpet. She was unusually self-conscious. He'd led her to the bathroom, told her to shower. Then he'd laid out some clothes for her in the bedroom. Grace had showered and changed while he made tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. She'd smiled at the kiddie comfort food. Not her usual smirk, more of a nostalgic smile. She'd eaten slowly with her eyes closed like she was pretending she was a little girl. They'd passed the night quietly, aware of the unresolved awkwardness between them but determined to ignore it._

_ He'd awakened her the next day. "What?" she'd demanded without opening her eyes._

_ "I have to go to class soon."_

_ "Okay." She'd rolled away only to suddenly jerk upright and gawk at him like she had no idea why he was there. Luke wondered if she'd been drunk the night before, but dismissed the thought because he hadn't smelled any alcohol. _

_ "I got your bag out of the car. Go ahead and get dressed. I don't want to be late for class."_

_ He'd left her alone. When she'd come out, Luke made her eat breakfast. Then he took her to class with him. That night and the entire weekend they'd spent exploring. Luke kept up a running commentary on the sights and happenings of __Cambridge__. Grace didn't say much of anything, just smiled gratefully and nodded absently as he talked._

_ Monday morning, he wondered if she'd leave. He didn't want her to. She was hurting and he wanted to help her, even if that meant distracting her or keeping her company while she grieved. Not that she said she was grieving. He just sensed that she was. But she was up and ready to go with him. She sat beside him in class, blatantly lost, then asked him questions over coffee as they went to the next one. Sometimes she'd pull out a notebook, tune out his professor, and write furiously. She'd fill pages within the hour, never stopping to review or edit. By the end of the day, he'd learned to attend class with his ears while keeping his eyes on her. _

_ By Thursday, it had become their routine. That night he'd been studying after she'd gone to bed when he heard rustling. He looked up to find Grace standing at the edge of the room. She'd commandeered one of his flannel shirts; it hung to her knees. She hadn't even bothered to roll up the sleeves. Running a hand through her disheveled hair, she finally tucked it behind her ears and pointed at the sofa. "You mind?"_

_ "No." Luke gathered his notes and moved them as she crossed the room. He mentally reprimanded himself for noticing her legs; now wasn't the time for that. She sat beside him and tucked them under her before settling back against the sofa. _

_ "Who are you studying for?"_

_ "Wolchek," he answered. She shuddered; she knew Wolchek's class was not easy in the least._

_ He started to close his textbook when she asked sharply, "What are you doing?"_

_"Why?"_

_ "You should be studying," she stated, her voice fierce and stern._

_ "Since when do you care about school?"_

_ "Just because I'm not enamored with __America__'s institutionalized education mentality does not mean that you aren't."_

_ "I resent that."_

_ She ignored him. "You are supposed to become some major physics hero that generations of science geeks will revere for all posterity. You need an education, such as it is, to do that. So study."_

_ "I'll study over Spring Break."_

_ "You have midterms before that. You aren't going to do poorly because of me. Study."_

_ Luke stared at her before deliberately closing the book and setting it atop his notes. Grace glowered at him. "Are you okay?" he asked._

_ "I'm fine."_

_ He nodded. "Do you want to watch TV?"_

_"No."_

_ "Do you want to talk?"_

_ "No."_

_ "Grace?" He waited for her to meet his gaze. "Talk to me."_

_ For a moment, she looked like she was going to refuse his request. "Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked finally._

_ "I'm always nice to you."_

_ "That's true. I should have been nicer to you."_

_ "You had your moments. You did," he insisted at her skeptical expression._

_ "Not enough."_

_ "Grace."_

_ "Why haven't you made me tell you why I'm here?"_

_ He grinned at the ridiculous question. "I've never been able to make you do anything."_

_ "Come on, Luke. You haven't even asked."_

_ "I figured you'd tell me if you wanted me to know."_

_ "Why are you being so good to me?" she whispered._

_ "Because you need me to." She bit the inside of her lip and averted her eyes. Luke shifted his body toward her and stretched his arm along the back of the sofa. With a slight smile, he gestured to his shoulder. "It's yours if you want it."_

_ She laughed, a soft, watery chuckle, then nodded. Slowly, she fell against him. At first, her tears were silent. He only knew she was crying because of the increasing dampness of his shirt. Then a low whimper joined the tears. Soon, she'd buried her face in the crook of his neck, bawling great, wrenching sobs that wracked her body._

_ Luke wrapped his arms around her, gathered her close. His heart broke for her. Despite everything they'd been through and all the times she'd pushed him away, he couldn't help wanting to make the shadows in her eyes disappear. He kissed her temple, then moved so that they were in a more comfortable position. He fell asleep with her in his arms._

_ Grace was gone when he awoke the next morning, the first time she'd gotten up before him since she'd arrived. She'd left a note thanking him on top on his flannel shirt. She promised to call when she got back to __Maryland__. Later that night, he came home to find a message on his answering machine, saying she was home, safe and sound._

_ He never saw or heard from her again._

He'd expected to see her tonight but she hadn't come. Luke didn't know if this relieved him or not. On the one hand, he was certain that Grace not coming was a good thing. He could only imagine what the atmosphere between them would be. Caroline would surely notice whatever it was. She'd have questions. After all, Luke never talked about Grace. On the other hand, he wanted to see her, know how and who she was now. Suppressing a groan, he sat up. It was time to go back inside.

The petite blonde with the brown shopping bag stood on the porch, her unmoving hand poised to knock. She lowered it only to raise it again. Taking a deep breath, she attempted to knock, but stopped herself. She brushed the hair back off of her face and Luke's jaw dropped. "Grace?"

"What the . . ." She spun toward his voice, her hand pressed against her stomach. "Luke?"

"I thought you weren't coming," he said as he got up.

"I was, um, held up. What are you doing out here?"

Grace's question didn't register. He was too distracted by her appearance. She was lovely in a way he'd rarely seen before. She seemed softer, natural somehow as if she fully inhabited her skin instead of merely protecting it.

"Luke?"

"What?"

"What are you doing out here?"

"Just getting some air," he said as he folded his arms across his stomach. Of course, he'd make a fool of himself in front of her. "What's in the bag?"

"Presents." Grace peered up at him in question, then shrugged and tilted her head toward the door. "Let's go inside. It's freezing out here."

He leaned forward and opened the door, then stepped back so she could enter ahead of him. She hesitated, looked from him to the lively party in the living room. His lips twitched. She smiled and entered the house.


	10. January

A/N: No, there won't be a second part to chapter nine, primarily because I got tired just thinking about dealing with all those characters at one time. However, I'm glad that so many of you like the chapter. You'll probably find out what happened in the Grace-Luke story I'll write, eventually. But that's neither here nor there. On to chapter ten. It's pretty fluffy and, um, a little racy. It just kinda happened. Sorry. Hope I don't offend anybody. Anyway, thanks for all of your reviews. Don't be too hard on this chapter. Alexandri

"I still can't believe you blindfolded me," Joan groused as she clutched Adam's hand and stumbled after him. Thirty minutes before her currently graceless predicament, she'd received a text message: Put on your coat and meet me out front. Love, Adam. When she'd called him back to tell him she couldn't (she was still neck-deep in wedding arrangements), he'd insisted. When she'd gotten in his car, he'd locked the doors, kissed her senseless, and drove off. "You kidnapped me!"

"Jane, not so loud," he whispered. "People might actually believe you."

Now that she thought about it, she did hear a lot of activity around them. Frowning in the direction of his voice, she gestured toward the blindfold and said in a dramatic but much softer tone, "I wonder why they would. Maybe because it's actually true."

Adam stopped, causing Joan to run into him. Slipping an arm around her waist to steady her, he bent so his mouth was next to her ear. "I love you, Jane."

"I know." She refused to say the words back. This little stunt of his was putting her way behind schedule as if the holidays and the start of the new semester hadn't screwed it all up to begin with.

She felt his lips curve into a smile against her ear and suppressed an answering shiver.

"I've missed you, too."

The shiver she'd been fighting back shimmied down her spine. Annoyed with her susceptibility to him, Joan crossed her arms over her stomach and tossed her hair back defiantly. But she couldn't help wondering when his voice had gotten so raspy and warm and downright sexy.

"We haven't seen each other much for the last few months," he continued. "The holidays don't count. I mean, we saw each other but we haven't really had any time alone, wouldn't you agree?"

Pouting, Joan nodded. She knew she was being childish but being abducted, even by her beloved fiancé, was bringing out the worst in her.

"Wouldn't you like to spend some time alone with me?"

Just like that, her childish resistance crumbled. She ran her hands up his chest as she pressed against him. "Of course. It's just that I have a lot of planning to do."

Hugging her close, Adam kissed her temple and smiled. "Not tonight, you don't."

Before she could object, he took her hand and steered her through what she guessed must be a throng of people. One elevator ride later, they were walking down a quiet hallway. "Where are we?"

He released her hand and she heard the jingle of keys. "It's a surprise."

"What kind of surprise?"

"Hopefully, the kind that will make you forget how tense you are about this. Come on," he said and led her forward. "Stay right here and do not touch the blindfold."

"Adam, what are you doing?" she asked as he left her there. He didn't respond, just kept moving around the room. Joan felt an odd sense of displacement as if she had stepped into some kind of void. "This isn't funny."

"Okay," he said from behind her, making her jump. "Are you ready?"

"You wouldn't believe how much."

He untied the blindfold and wrapped his arms around her waist. "What do you think?"

Joan rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes then blinked to clear her vision. What she saw made her jaw drop. They were standing in a hotel room. From the satin brocade comforter to the gleaming mahogany furniture, it was easily the most beautiful room she'd ever set foot in. "Oh, Adam."

"You like it?"

Turning in his arms, she slipped her arms around his neck. "I love it."

"Good."

"I'm sorry I was such a brat."

Adam shrugged. "That's okay. I expected as much." When she gasped in offense, he laughed. "You do like to have your way, Jane."

"That's true," she admitted grudgingly.

"Why don't we make ourselves comfortable?" Adam asked as he unbuttoned her coat and pushed it off of her shoulders.

"Okay." She tugged off her gloves and tossed them aside as she watched him. Her hat and scarf quickly followed. "If you don't mind me asking, what prompted all this?"

"I told you," he answered as he hung up her coat, "we haven't had much time together and I missed you. I thought we could have a pre-married weekend, you know, so we could reconnect."

"Pre-married weekend," Joan repeated with a smile. "I like that. But, sweetie, it's Thursday. I have to work tomorrow."

"I had to move up my plans a little."

Joan watched him come back to her. He was keeping something from her, she just knew it. "Why?"

Skimming his hands down her arms, Adam grasped her hands and smiled down at her. "Your family and friends love you, but it seems they need a break. If they don't get it, they may revolt. I love you too much to lose you this close to the wedding, especially if I can do something about it."

"Am I that bad?" she asked incredulously.

"They're calling you Il Duce."

"Oh." She sank onto the bed. It wasn't every day she was compared to a dead fascist dictator.

"It's okay, Jane. All you need to do is relax."

"But there's so much to do. I really should be at home, organizing."

"One of the rules of the pre-married weekend is that you can't do any wedding planning."

"But . . ."

Adam shook his head. "No buts. You are supposed to relax and spend time with me." He pulled her to her feet and led her to the table. A large shopping bag sat on top of it. "With that in mind, I think it's time to unpack."

"What all do you have in there?"

"Let's see." He reached in and pulled out another bag. It was filled with votive candles.

"Can we light candles in here?"

Adam nodded. "I checked already." He reached into the bag and pulled out a bouquet, which he handed to Joan with a flourish. "Flowers for milady."

"I thought you said roses were too obvious," Joan said as she happily buried her nose in the fragrant flowers.

"If they were red, they would be. These are peach."

"Thank you." She pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "They're beautiful."

"You're welcome."

"Do you have anything else in there?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. Some mixed CDs Rodney made," he said, pulling them out.

"Ooh." Joan knew firsthand that Rodney made the best mixed CDs.

"A couple of movies I rented."

"What did you get?" Adam handed her the cases. "_The Princess Bride_. I love _The Princess Bride_."

"Who doesn't?"

She paused when she saw the second title. "_Roxanne_?"

"Hey," he said, holding his hands up, "you're the one obsessed with movies from the '80s."

"Yeah, but _Roxanne_?"

"It was either that or _Top Gun_ and I really didn't want to see _Top Gun_."

"Okay, but Adam, _Roxanne_?"

"What's wrong with _Roxanne_?"

"Nothing. It's just . . .why?" She watched him try to formulate his answer. He looked pained. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, it's just a little embarrassing."

"I promise I won't laugh." Joan gave him an encouraging smile.

He sighed. "The town weirdo falls in love with the beautiful new girl who somehow manages to fall in love with him, too. I can relate."

Joan's smile grew; she was marrying the sweetest man. "You aren't weird, Adam."

"Maybe not now, but I was when we met."

"You weren't weird, just different."

"We both know that's not true."

"Okay, so maybe you were a little strange."

"Jane," Adam said, giving her a "come-on" look.

"Fine," she conceded. "You were weird, but so was I."

"Unchallenged," he said as he took her in his arms. "But then Darryl Hannah was strange in her own way in the movie."

"And Steve Martin had a number of admirable qualities. He was nice and sweet and romantic. Intelligent, witty, caring. He had a sense of humor."

"And he was very agile."

Giggling, Joan nodded in agreement. "And handy with a tennis racket. Can we watch it now?"

"Oh, now you want to watch it?"

"All this talk about it, I'm suddenly in the mood." When Adam flinched, she looked up at him, concerned. "What did I say?"

"Nothing," he said, turning away.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." He picked up the bag and Joan noticed that it wasn't empty.

"What's in the bag, Adam?"

"Proof that I shouldn't be allow to shop unsupervised," he muttered under his breath as he continued toward the closet.

She heard him anyway. "Let me see."

"It's nothing, really."

"I'm just going to bug you until you show me."

Adam's shoulders slumped as he recognized the truth in her words. Clearly reluctant, he came back toward her and gave her the last item in the bag.

Joan glanced at the box then back at her fiancé, confused. "It's a board game."

"Look closer, Jane."

She did as he said and felt the blood rush to her face. It was a game about foreplay. "So, no strip poker, huh?"

"I was in the bookstore killing time until an appointment and I saw it. It looked interesting." He scratched the back of his neck as she set the game on the table. He wouldn't meet her eyes. "And, well, it's been a while since we, you know. Since August, actually, and, God stop me."

Adam reached for the game and Joan stopped him by putting her hand on top of it. "Is there anything else in the bag I should know about?"

"No."

"No trashy lingerie?"

He looked up at her, his mouth hanging open.

"No flavored massage oil?"

"N-No," he stammered.

"No whipped cream?"

His cheeks flushed red. "No."

"How are we supposed to play without all the pieces?" Joan grinned as Adam groped for an answer. She moved closer and wrapped her arms around his waist. "I've noticed too. That it's been a while."

"You have?" he whispered.

Joan nodded. "Mm-hmm. And I must say, I'm looking forward to seeing what the game suggests."

If possible, Adam turned redder. "So, you're not offended or turned off by it?"

Slowly shaking her head, Joan stretched until her mouth was next to his ear. "Quite the opposite."

With a sigh of relief, Adam took her face in both of his hands and kissed her.

Sweet at first, the kiss soon became passionate as he playfully licked at the seam of her lips, coaxing them to open for him. She obliged, gasping as his tongue swept past, reacquainting itself with the contours of her mouth. Her tongue stroked his as he kissed her with an ardor that pushed all thoughts of planning out of her mind. Arching into him, Joan slid her fingers into the crisp hair at his nape, tugging him closer still. He pulled back, dragging a whimper from her. A moan swiftly replaced it as he drew her lower lip into his mouth, nibbling it teasingly as he gradually ended the kiss.

Joan sank against the table, her mind deliciously fogged by Adam's kiss. She watched him take a deep breath before heading for the door. Only then did she realize that someone had knocked.

Adam opened the door and stepped back as room service wheeled a tray in. He tipped the man and all but pushed him into the hallway. Then he turned and grinned at Joan.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "When did you order room service?"

"When I checked in this afternoon." He crossed the room and began clearing the table. "Hungry?"

She began to transfer the food to the table. When he glanced up, waiting for her answer, she grinned and said, "Like you wouldn't believe."

* * *

Adam woke up and knew instantly that Joan wasn't in bed with him. Running his hand over her side of the bed, he scanned the room. Not there. Turning over, he spotted her standing in front of the French doors, wearing his sweater. "Jane?"

Tearing her pensive gaze away from the view, she looked at him and smiled.

"It's late," he noted, glancing at the clock. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah."

"Then come to bed. You have to get up in the morning."

"I'm fine. Go back to sleep." Nodding as if to confirm her statement, Joan turned back to the view.

A worried frown marred Adam's forehead. Something was wrong. He was the one prone to late-night restlessness, not Joan. Shoving the covers back, he got out of bed, found his pants, and pulled them on before approaching his fiancée.

She monitored his progress in the glass, smiling when he came to a stop behind her. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't," he assured her as he took her in his arms. "You want to tell me about it?"

"Tell you about what?"

He heard the hopeful note in her voice, the one that said she didn't want him to press her for answers. For a moment, he considered giving in to her unspoken request, but something told him not to. "Whatever has you wide awake and upset at two-thirty in the morning."

She sighed, knowing he wasn't going to drop the issue, and leaned into his warmth. His arms tightened around her and she marveled at how loved and protected he made her feel with that one gesture. "I'm not upset," she finally admitted.

"So what's different? You were fine earlier."

"Just thinking."

"About?"

Shrugging, Joan placed her hands over his where they lay on her stomach and laced their fingers together. He'd been stroking her stomach with his thumbs. Any other time, she'd have let him continue. His habit of caressing her whenever he touched her was one of her favorites, but it was distracting. "Before you picked me up, Grace said something to me and now I can't get it out of my head."

"Tell me."

"She said I should let you help with the wedding."

"We agreed: no wedding planning during the pre-married weekend."

"I'm not planning, I swear." She gazed up at his skeptical face and laughed. "Really, I'm not. But what she said got me to thinking. Do you feel left out?"

"Left out?"

"Of the wedding process. You know, since I haven't asked you to do much."

Adam frowned as he contemplated the question. Aside from coordinating the honeymoon and the rehearsal dinner, his involvement in the "process" was nonexistent. "I did in the beginning. I thought maybe you didn't trust me not to mess up whatever task you'd give me."

"Oh, Adam, no. I never thought that," she said with an adamant shake of her head.

He gave her a little squeeze before continuing. "Now, I figure you're trying to give me as much time with Dad as possible."

"So you don't feel left out? Because Grace said you wanted to help."

"Of course, I want to help, Jane. It's my wedding, too. I just assumed you had your reasons for not asking."

Joan's shoulders slumped and she rested her forehead against his cheek. A part of her wanted to share the insanity that was wedding planning with him. She suspected that when the dust settled and she and Adam had been married for a while, she would look back at these hectic few months with fondness. But, at present, all she could think about was the never-ending details and the upheaval his life had undergone. A much larger part of her just wanted to alleviate as much stress for him as she could. She'd never meant to make him feel snubbed. "I'm so sorry, Adam."

"For what?"

"For excluding you," she whispered. "That was never my intention."

"What was your intention?"

"To spare you the headache. You have so much going on right now. I figured you didn't need this as well."

"No matter what else is going on in my life, Jane," he began, "I will never be too busy for you. We're getting married.

"I know."

"That means that you never have to try and do everything by yourself." Extracting one of his hands from her grip, he tipped her chin up so that she could see his eyes. "You can always lean on me and I will always support you. All right?"

Tears shimmered in her eyes and a smile quivered on her lips. She tried to answer but found she couldn't, so she just nodded.

"Good," he whispered before brushing a kiss across her mouth.

He didn't know how long they stood staring at the view when he felt her mood change again. "What?"

Joan shrugged and began to trace her fingertips over his hands and arms. He loved it when she did that. "I was thinking about the wedding," she confessed sheepishly.

"Jane."

"I wasn't planning. I was worrying."

"About what?"

She shrugged again. "I don't know. I guess I'm scared it won't be . . ."

"Perfect?" Her laughter surprised him. "What did I say?"

"I'm not expecting perfection," she explained as her laughter died down. "That would be too easy. Nothing is ever easy for us."

"You have a point."

"I'm scared it won't be magical. This is so huge. We've been through so much, you and I, just to get here. I want our wedding to reflect that. I want it to show how important, how amazing it is that we made it this far."

"It is pretty amazing."

"This wedding," she said so softly he almost didn't hear her, "it's my gift to you." Shock filtered through his brain but she didn't seem to notice. She continued staring out at the woods. "You've given me so much. I want to give this to you."

Slowly, with great deliberation, Adam turned Joan toward him and cupped her face in his hands. "You are the greatest gift I have ever received, Jane. I don't need anything else."

"That's sweet, but . . ."

"Let me finished." He smiled to take the sting out of the interruption. "Whatever I've given you doesn't need to be repaid or reciprocated."

"I know. I do. It's just," she paused, searching for the right words, "I want to create something immaculate in its beauty, something that I created with you in mind. Maybe I'm not making sense, but it's important to me that, in some tangible way, I show you how much you mean to me."

"Jane, you don't need to do all this."

"Yes, I do."

He slid his hands down her back. "No, you don't because you already show me." Seeing the doubt in her eyes, Adam pulled her tight against him. "Every time I enter a room you're in, you temporarily forget that anyone else is around. When I give you a sculpture or a surprise, this look comes over your face. You get this soft, secret, little smile and your eyes light up like it's Christmas. When I'm sad or sick or tired, you go out of your way to make it better. And when we kiss or make love, you give yourself to me with such complete abandon. I've never wondered about my importance to you. You show me all the time."

Joan gazed at him with teary eyes and a tremulous smile, speechless. Finally, she said, "I need you to go choose suits for you and your groomsmen. I was going to do it, but you'd know what you like better than I would."

"Okay, Jane," he said with an understanding chuckle.

"And, when you have time, I need to go over the menu with you. Just to make sure there's nothing you don't like and to make sure no one is allergic to anything."

"No more planning, Jane."

She sniffled. "Okay."

Adam kissed her one more time. She clung to him as if she was trying to pour all of her love into him. When he pulled back, there were tears on her cheeks. Gently, he dried her tears and led her away from the window. "Ready to go back to bed?"

"Mm-hmm."

He rummaged through a drawer, eventually pulling out a nightshirt, which he tossed on the table.

"What's that for?"

"You." Without any warning, he pulled his sweater off of her and started to slip the nightshirt over her head. "Arms."

Joan thrust her arms through the sleeves. "Why couldn't I wear your sweater?"

"Because it's not meant to be slept in," he answered. Suddenly, he stopped and eyed her suspiciously. "I'm not going to able to keep you out of my clothes, am I?"

"I don't think so," she admitted, shaking her head.

Sighing with mock resignation, Adam finished tugging the shirt down. "I guess I'll just have to take you shopping with me from now on."

"Apparently," she replied. "Someone has to keep you from buying dirty board games."

"I can't believe you just said that," he exclaimed as she shook with laughter. "That's it." Adam scooped her up and carried her to the bed.

"Put me down," she squealed, slapping at his shoulders.

He kissed her sweetly on the cheek. "As you wish," he said and tossed her on the bed.


	11. February

A/N: I bet you weren't expecting another update so quickly, were you? Well, I'm on a mission--finish this story by Saturday. Luck for me, chapter 13 is almost finished. Anywho, thanks for reviewing the last chapter. I know it wasn't Johanna Lindsey racy or Anne Rice racy, but more so than my usual offerings. Besides, there some rather young adults in the fandom. I try to be responsible. :D Anyway, you know the drill. Alexandri

Joan strolled through the china department casting surreptitious glances at Adam. He'd been quiet all morning, even distant. She remembered him muttering "Morning" when he'd picked her up. After that, she was sure he hadn't said a word since.

So much for her vision of a fun-filled day of gift registering. They'd already browsed the linens and kitchenware departments. She'd even taken him to the tool section in hopes of getting his attention. All she'd gotten for her troubles were absent nods and the occasional vague "hmm." Joan knew they should just call it a day and do it another time, but their schedules were so crazy, she didn't know when they'd get another chance to do this together. And she wanted very much to do this with him.

If only she could get a reaction from him.

"What do you think about this one?" Joan asked, holding up a hideously ornate plate.

Adam barely glanced at it before nodding. "It's nice."

At least he'd said something. Trying valiantly to keep her emotions in check, Joan continued browsing. Surely there was something in the store that was distinctly "them."

Thirty minutes later, she still hadn't found anything promising. Pushing back her sadness at this waste of a day (she'd taken off work so they could avoid the weekend crowd), Joan admitted defeat. There was no point in continuing. Without his input, she was reluctant to make a final choice and Adam just wasn't in the right frame of mind today. They'd simply have to find, steal, or create some time for this later in the week.

"I'm done," she said, her voice thick with disappointment. "We can go now."

When he didn't even "hmm," Joan looked up. He wasn't there. She scanned the china section, but he was nowhere in sight. "Adam?" she called, hoping that he was just hidden from view. He didn't answer. Fighting back panic, Joan searched the area, then the store at large.

She found him in the cookware department looking at copper pots. Initially, her relief at finding him was so great, tears sprang to her eyes. Then she noticed the focus with which he handled the pots. She'd shown him those same pots an hour and a half ago and he hadn't even glanced at them. Now he examined them like a master chef. Anger unlike anything she'd ever felt toward him exploded in her chest and dried her eyes.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Adam glanced up at her, his head cocked to the side like a curious puppy confronted with something inexplicable. "Looking at pots," he said cautiously.

"Looking at pots," she repeated darkly. "Looking at pots? When I showed you those pots, you couldn't have cared less. Now you want to look at pots?"

"About that . . ."

"Did you go to the linens section, too? Find any bath mats you like?"

"Jane, I . . ."

"How could you leave me like that?" she demanded. "Do you know how scared I was when I realized I was surrounded by ugly dishes and you were nowhere in sight?"

"I'm sorry about the dishes, Jane," Adam began sincerely.

"It's not about the damn dishes," she shouted. Drawing a shuddery breath, she tried to regain her composure. She trembled with the fruitless effort. "You know what? Just forget it. Let's go."

"Jane," he said, grasping her elbow.

Wrenching her elbow out of his grip, she glared at his penitent face. "Leave it."

"But . . ."

"I'm trying not to make too big a scene here. So just shut up and let's go." Turning on her heel, Joan marched off. She didn't even look back to see if he followed her.

* * *

The anger that had blazed in Adam since Joan's blowup in the department store had died down to mere irritation. He knew that her anger was justified. He should have been paying attention and he shouldn't have left her. What irritated him was the way she'd chosen to express her displeasure. As a result, they now sat in the bistro they'd settled on stoically eating their lunch and avoiding eye contact.

They were halfway through their entrées before the silence was broken. "I owe you an apology."

Startled by the unexpected sound of her voice, Adam glanced up to find remorse etched on her face.

"I-I shouldn't have thrown a tantrum like that," she stammered. "I'm sorry."

Adam nodded his acceptance while he let her words sink in. Then he said, "Why did you?"

"I was mad." The look Joan gave him said she thought that much was obvious.

"I got that," he said, his voice tinged with amusement. "What I don't get is why . . ."

"I yelled at you like that," she finished for him.

"Was it the stress of everything getting to you again? Did you feel overwhelmed by the experience? Had I done something in addition to not paying attention that made you lose it like that?" Reaching across the table, Adam laid his hand over hers. "What happened, Jane?"

She shrugged, poking at her salad. "I was really looking forward to registering," she said simply.

"I know. Why?"

"Because it's different than everything else."

"Go on."

With a sigh, Joan put her fork down and met his eyes. "It wasn't about the gift part or the shopping part. It was about the meaning behind it."

"You lost me."

"Registering doesn't have anything to do with the ceremony or the reception or the honeymoon. It's not about guest lists or menus. It's about our life together, our marriage. I really wanted to share this with you because this is the first chance we get to, I don't know, see what we want our life to look like. What we want it to be."

"Oh, Jane," he said.

She waved his sigh away. "I don't even care if we get a fraction of what we register for. That wasn't the point to me. This was an opportunity for us to get a glimpse of who we are as Mr. and Mrs. Rove. I know it's just the material, external part of us but it's a part of us we don't know yet."

Adam took hold of her hands. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she said with a dismissive shake of her head.

"No, it's not."

"You have a lot on your mind. I understand that. You're bound to be a little preoccupied sometimes."

"So what? I knew we were doing this today. I knew you were excited about it."

"But you're not a shopper, Adam. I should have expected your interest to fade."

"Jane, I was looking forward to this, too. Not for the same reasons as you, but I _was_ looking forward to spending some time together. My not being a shopper had nothing to do with my behavior."

She shrugged. "Still."

He squeezed her hands to get her attention. "Don't excuse this."

"What?" she asked, her eyes wide with surprise.

"This was important to you and I ruined it with my inattentiveness," Adam stated. "You don't have to excuse that. You shouldn't."

"So what should I do?" she asked, bewildered by the turn in the conversation.

"Admit that I hurt you."

Joan teased her bottom lip with her lips, looking like he'd asked her to sever a limb.

"I want to hear you say it, Jane," he prodded gently.

"Why?" she whispered.

"Because you have this strange image of me. On the one hand, you want to protect me like a parent protects her child. On the other hand, you seem to see me as this faultless being who can do no wrong. I told you last year that that's not me. I make mistakes and I do stupid things and I need you to acknowledge that. You don't have to excuse the hurtful things or the big, dumb things that I'm sure to do. You can be angry with me if you want."

She took a deep breath and slowly released it before meeting his eyes. "You hurt me."

"Now I'm going to apologize and you're going to accept my apology, okay?" Joan rolled her eyes and nodded. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Jane."

"Okay." Adam raised an imperious eyebrow at her and she giggled. "I accept your apology."

"Thank you," Adam said, smiling at her gratefully. Joan gave him a tiny one in return. "Now there's one more thing I need you to do."

"What's that?"

"Forgive me."

"Always."

"Is everything satisfactory?" Adam and Joan glanced up to find their waiter standing patiently beside the table. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

Adam glanced at Joan.

"I never turn down dessert. You know that."

"A dessert menu, please?" Adam said, trying not to laugh.

"Of course." The waiter cleared the table and returned immediately with the menu.

Joan ordered something fudgy. Adam didn't order anything as usual. He found that watching her eat dessert was far too distracting and much more satisfying that eating it himself. She didn't disappoint him.

"Adam." She sounded like she'd called his name more than once.

He blinked. "What?"

Smirking, she said, "I offered you some."

"I wouldn't dream of depriving you."

"Whatever," she said, giving the bowl of her spoon a slow, thorough licking.

Sometimes he swore that she made a show of eating just to torture him.

"Adam?"

"Hmm?"

"What were you thinking about?"

"Just now?" he asked, hoping that wasn't what she meant.

It wasn't. "At the store earlier."

"Nothing important really. It turns out that Dad has been dating since I went off to school. With you, not to New York. I just found out this morning," he finished with a shrug.

She was as surprised as he'd been. "Oh."

"I just couldn't stop thinking about it. I'm sorry."

"I understand."

"You know, I've changed my mind," he announced. "Let me have a bite of that."

Joan obligingly scooped up some of the moist cake and held the spoon out to him. "I think we both have things to work on," she said softly as he chewed. "I try to make you flawless and you try to protect me from your problems."

"What are you talking about?" Adam asked though he already knew what she meant.

"Talk to me. Tell me how you feel about this morning."

"He didn't have to hide it from me," he said finally. "That's what's so upsetting."

"Did he say why he didn't tell you?"

Nodding, Adam took another bite of Joan's cake. "Something about not wanting me to deal with his seeing another woman if the relationship wasn't going to last."

"He was trying to protect you."

"I don't need to be protected all the time."

"Sweetie," Joan said, rubbing his arm, "he's your dad. That's his job. He just didn't want to hurt you."

"I know, but I'm not a child anymore. I don't need to be coddled, Jane. He should have told me. I probably wouldn't have taken it too well, but I'd have come around." Adam paused, running his hand absently through his hair. "He didn't need to lie to me."

"I know how it feels to find out your parents lied to you."

"What am I supposed to do now?"

"Just what you told me to do: admit that he hurt you, accept his mistake and forgive him." She smiled at him. "It's actually pretty good advice."

Bringing her hand to his face, he pressed his cheek into her palm. She stroked his cheek in return. "It's good to have someone to share this with."

"That's what I'm here for." Suddenly, a mischievous gleam came into her eyes. "Speaking of sharing, you ate the rest of my cake."

A glance at the plate confirmed her statement. "Sorry."

"That's okay," she assured with a nonchalant shrug. "You'll just have to make it up to me. After all, you wouldn't want me to feel deprived, would you?"

"Certainly not."

"Good. Because what I have in mind requires a lot of effort on your part." Joan stood, gathered her purse, and came around to his side of the table. She leaned toward him. Adam raised his lips for her kiss. She surprised him by licking a smear of chocolate off the corner of his mouth. "And chocolate sauce," she whispered. "We're going to need lots and lots of chocolate sauce. I'll be right back. Think about it."


	12. March

A/N: I just want to thank everybody for continuing to review this story. They make my day. Depudor, I must admit that I am indeed a Pretender. I know nothing about the art world. By the way, I love _Weird Science. _But that's neither here nor there. Enjoy the chapter. With any luck, chapter thirteen will be up later today. Alexandri

Adam didn't even bother to open his eyes as he fumbled for the phone. "Hello?" he said when he finally brought it to his ear.

"We're homeless."

"What?" His eyes flew open in concern at the frantic tone of his caller's voice. "Jane?"

"We're homeless, Adam," Joan repeated, the panic-stricken note rising in her voice.

"Are you all right?" he asked, tossing back the covers and hunting for his shoes. "What happened? Where's Grace?"

"She's in bed. What does she have to do with it?"

Adam stopped shoving his foot in his sneaker. "Didn't you just say you were homeless?"

"You and me," she exclaimed, clearly annoyed, "not me and Grace."

Groaning, he kicked off his shoe and flopped back on the bed. "It's three in the morning, Jane. You sound hysterical. I thought there'd been a fire or something."

"Sorry," came her slightly embarrassed reply.

"It's okay, Jane." He didn't know why he was surprised by her late-night call, but he was nevertheless. With the wedding just under a week away, he figured he'd be receiving more of them. "Now what's this about us being homeless?"

"Where are we going to live after we're married, Adam? In all my planning, I hadn't thought of that."

"Oh." He didn't try to say anything else; he knew better. She was in panicked rant mode. She wouldn't hear him anyway.

"I love my parents, but we can't live with them. That's more closeness than I want, thank you. I guess we could live with your dad, but then there's the same closeness problem. We could live here, I suppose, but there's something icky about the thought of Grace being in the next room. She's like a sister or something. She feels too much like family. Is that why you never spent the night at our apartment in college?"

"Probably."

"Oh. We have to do something about this, Adam. I don't want to spend our honeymoon worrying about where we're going to live. Do you?"

"No," he answered, trying not to laugh.

"So what are we going to do?" she demanded. "How are we going to handle this?"

"Have lunch with me later."

"What? Adam, this is serious. We're . . ."

"Homeless. I know. Can you get away?"

Her heavy, agitated sigh echoed over the phone. "Yes."

"Good. I'll pick you up around eleven-thirty. We'll talk about it then."

"But, Adam . . ."

"Get some sleep, Jane. Everything'll be fine. I promise, okay?"

She didn't answer immediately. Finally, she said, "Okay."

"Okay. Good night. I love you."

"I love you, too. Good night."

* * *

Now that Joan realized their dire housing situation, she could hardly think of anything else. With all the other details weighing on her, this new development wasn't helping her state of mind. By the time Adam knocked on her office door promptly at eleven-thirty, she was a tightly wound bundle of nerves.

"I thought you were exaggerating when you said the students were excited about our wedding," he said as he came in. "I don't think I've been congratulated that much since the engagement party Rodney and Kat threw for us."

"That's nice, sweetie," she said absently as she got her keys and purse. "Let's go." She saw Adam thrust his hands in his pockets and bite back a smile as he escorted her to his car. "You wouldn't be laughing at me, would you? Because that wouldn't be very nice."

His shoulders shook. "Sorry," he managed eventually. "You're just so cute when you're on a mission."

"Oh, please," she said as she got in the car, but some of her tension eased.

Getting in, Adam took Joan's hand. "Ready?"

"Very."

Joan tried to devise a feasible game plan while Adam drove. Finding a place to live wasn't something you could do in an afternoon. It took time and they didn't have much to spare for this. Maybe they should postpone the honeymoon. Surely they could wait until the end of May. It was just two months. She was positive Adam could rearrange the plans. Frowning, Joan sought an alternative to the postponement but came up empty. As much as she hated to admit it, it was the best plan. On the bright side, if they waited until May, she and Adam could take as much time away as they wanted.

"Jane. We're here."

Adam got out of the car as Joan glanced out the window. He'd brought her to an apartment complex. "What are we doing here?" she asked as he helped her out of the car. "Are we here to see an apartment?"

"Mm-hmm."

She followed him, puzzled. Shouldn't they have stopped at the leasing office first? It had been some time since she'd last done this, but she was sure that a property manager should be with them. Her confusion grew as Adam flipped through his keys before selecting one and fitting it in the lock of a ground floor apartment. He opened the door and stepped back to let her past. "After you."

Joan stepped into the apartment. The kitchen was to her immediate right. Straight ahead were the living areas. There was hardly any furniture, just a couple of plastic chairs and a gorgeous oak dining table. Boxes were stacked throughout the room. But it was the walls that grabbed her attention. New apartment walls were white. These were a warm butter-yellow with soft cream trim. Maybe this used to be a model apartment. She turned back to Adam.

He lounged against the wall by the door holding out a key ring with two keys dangling from it. Heart pounding, she glanced around the apartment, then back at him. She raised her eyebrows in question. Was he serious? Pushing off the wall Adam smiled as he approached and placed the keys in her hand.

"Is this ours?"

"Yup."

"But how? When?" she asked, her bewildered gaze sweeping over the room yet again. "When did you do all this?"

"Last month," he answered. "I realized a while ago that we needed a place of our own. I've been looking since December, but we chose this apartment last month. The couple who used to live here moved out a few weeks ago and the painters just finished last week."

"We?"

"Your mom, Grace, Rebecca, and I." He grinned at her astonished expression. "I thought I could use some feminine input."

"You were all in on this and nobody said a word?"

Adam shrugged. "I swore them to secrecy. Do you like it?"

"Are you kidding?" Joan exclaimed with a laugh. "This is amazing. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Between the holidays and the plans, you were so stressed out that I decided to do it myself. Spare you the headache of adding something else to your list. Would you like a tour?"

"Yes, please."

"This is obviously the kitchen," he began. "Do you want to look in the cabinets?"

"Why would I want to look in the cabinets?"

"Your mom and Rebecca examined the cabinets in every apartment we looked at. Even Grace looked. I thought it was a woman thing."

Laughing, she said, "I'll trust their judgment."

"The laundry is through there." Adam pointed at the door at the back of the kitchen. "I don't know why they put it there, but it's a whole room, not a little closet, so I didn't question it."

"Wise man."

"The bathroom's across the hall," he said as he led her through the apartment and pointed out the various rooms. "It's connected to our bedroom. I made sure we had plenty of closet space. Living room and dining room and there's a second bedroom with its own bathroom. I thought it could be a guest room/home office. What do you think?"

"It's perfect," she said as she came to a stop in the middle of the living room.

"The rest of the furniture should be here tomorrow. Rodney said he'd help me arrange it and I'm sure Kat will tell us where to put everything." Adam came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "So, you see, you have nothing to worry about. We're not homeless."

"No, we're not." Joan turned in Adam's arms and hugged him. "Thank you so much."

"It was my pleasure."

"You didn't have to do this," she murmured as she kissed his neck.

He chuckled. "Jane," he said, pulling back so he could see her face, "you're giving me a beautiful wedding. I'm giving you a home. That's the way it works, isn't it?"

She brushed her knuckles over his cheek. "You can't say things like that, Adam."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm trying not to cry and, when you say things like that, it's hard not to."

With an understanding smile, Adam kissed the tip of Joan's nose. "I don't think it matters what I say."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you cry at the drop of a hat, Jane."

Joan gasped. "This is so mean."

Grinning, he shook his head at her. "No, it's not. It's true. I think you get it from your mom."

Clamping her hand over her mouth, she buried her face in the crook of his neck and laughed.

When she regained her composure, Adam said, "I wish I didn't have to take you back to work."

"Me, too."

"You could always call in," he suggested hopefully. "Tell Price something came up and you can't get back today."

Joan shook her head. "No. Gavin's been very understanding, which is kind of strange. Besides, I'm taking all of Friday off for the wedding. It wouldn't be right."

"You're right," he sighed begrudgingly. "I don't like it, but you're right."

Smiling, she kissed his chin. "I promise I'll make it up to you."

"Oh, you're definitely making it up to me," Adam announced cockily, making her laugh again. "But, right now, I need to feed you."

"I do remember an early-morning offer of lunch."

Adam opened his mouth to say something, but a knock at the door interrupted him. He grinned. "I'll be right back."

Seconds later, he came back with a pizza, a two-liter of Coke, and an order of breadsticks. "Lunch has arrived," he said as set everything on the table. "I got pepperoni, green peppers and sausage with extra garlic the way you like it."

"You really are the perfect man, aren't you?"

Laughing, he said, "Hardly," as he went to the kitchen. He took two plastic-covered bowls filled with salad out of the refrigerator and passed them to her over the snack bar. He waved her off and turned back to the fridge. A minute later, he brought out two cups of ice, plastic forks and salad dressing. "Ready to eat?

Nodding, she pulled out one of the chairs she'd brought to the table and prepared to sit.

"Jane."

She looked up at him and he shook his head. He turned her toward him, put his hands on her waist and lifted her onto the table. "Adam!"

"Just go with it." He sat on the opposite side of the pizza box, legs folded Indian-style in front of him.

Joan followed suit. "Should I even ask?" she said as he filled their cups.

He simply handed her a cup and raised his. "To us."

"To us." She took a sip and set her cup down. "Thank you for this, for all of it."

"Thank _you_."

"For what?" she asked, puzzled.

Adam shrugged. "Just for being you, I guess." Blushing, he nodded toward the pizza. "You get first choice."

She was halfway through her first slice before she looked up at him and gasped. "You watched it."

"I was hoping you wouldn't notice," he muttered as he put down his salad fork.

"Well?" she demanded when he didn't continue. "What did you think?"

"It was funny," he admitted with a huff.

"Ha! You liked it."

"No one likes a gloater, Jane."

"Um, excuse me, but I distinctly remember a certain someone gloating for days after I admitted to liking _The Third __Man_."

"That was different," he said.

"How?"

"_The Third Man_ is a classic."

"So is _Sixteen Candles_." Adam snorted. "Oh, come on. It's right up there with _Ferris Bueller's Day Off_ and _The Breakfast Club_."

"I'm going to end up watching every movie ever made in the '80s, aren't I?" he asked, his shoulders slumped by the prospect.

Joan nodded. "Most of them, yes, but only because you love me. And I do watch those awful artsy films you like."

"They're not awful."

"Whatever."

"They're not," he insisted.

"Okay. If you say so." She smiled. "You know, you forgot one thing."

He frowned at her. "What?"

"You have to kiss me over the pizza."

Laughing, he reached over to cup her cheek, surprised when she shook her head. "What now?"

"You have to put your hands behind you and push up. I keep my hands in my lap and lean forward because I'm more flexible than you since I'm a girl." Tears came to Joan's eyes as she tried not to laugh.

"Sure, Jane," he said, rolling his eyes and doing as she directed.

Joan leaned forward, stopping just short of kissing him. "Adam?"

"Yeah?"

"Friday can't come fast enough."

"I know," he whispered. "Now kiss me."

She happily obliged.


	13. April

Wrapping a blanket around her, Joan reclined in one of the patio chairs and gazed up at the sky. "So far, so good," she told the stars. "There've been no catastrophes, no breakdowns, and no bloodshed. Adam and I thought that Kat and Grace might not get along, and there was that moment after Kat asked Grace why she'd relegated herself to a small-town radio talk show. But then they got into a debate about something political that nobody but them cared about and all was well.

"Everything's set for tomorrow. There are no foreseen complications on the horizon. Maybe fate will be kind and tomorrow will go smoothly. Everybody will be on time and the whole thing will just fall into place after months of crazed planning." Joan laughed at the unlikelihood of her fantasy. If only life worked like that. _Stop thinking negatively_, she thought. _That won't do anyone any good. Besides, you're dancing around what you really want. Just get it over with and go to bed._

Smiling up at the heavens, Joan said, "I've been a pretty decent instrument, I think. Well, I've obeyed and things turned out all right. I haven't always been gracious or polite, but I am grateful for everything. And I know I probably shouldn't do what I'm about to do, but I haven't asked for much of anything. Okay, yeah, I've asked for answers to my questions, but that's more of a reflex than anything else. I already know you're not going to answer. So, here goes. Please, please, don't let it rain tomorrow. Yes, it's April and there's that whole showers thing, but I'd really, really appreciate if all the bad weather could wait until Saturday. That is, if it has to rain at all. That's it—that's all I'm asking. You thought it was going to be something big, didn't You?"

"You wouldn't call manipulating the weather big, Joan?"

Bolting upright, Joan smiled when she located the source of the question. God, in his all-time favorite cute boy form, crossed the patio and sat in the empty chair beside her.

"I was hoping You'd show."

"I'm always with you, Joan. You know that."

Was that sadness she detected in His voice? Frowning, she took a closer look at Him. Though He didn't seem any different than usual, Joan still felt a deep sense of sadness from Him. "I know. I was just hoping I'd see You before the wedding."

God didn't respond. Instead, He stared at the stars. Joan followed suit, a sense of well-being stealing over her as they sat in companionable silence.

Then His voice reached her through the still night. "You've been a wonderful instrument, Joan."

A teary smile lit Joan's face. "Thank You."

"You're welcome."

Wiping away her tears, Joan picked up the envelope resting on the table between them. "This is for You," she said.

"What is it?" He asked as He took it.

"Like You don't know," she scoffed laughingly. When He simply cocked an eyebrow, an obvious signal to play along, she rolled her eyes and said, "Open it."

With a barely perceptible smile, He opened the envelope and removed the card inside. "You're inviting Me to your wedding."

"I want You to be there."

"I'm always 'there,' Joan."

"I want to see You there," she rephrased. "Please. Just this one last time."

Cute Boy God glanced at her sharply, something akin to surprise in His eyes.

"I figured it out," Joan whispered. "The infrequent visits, the lack of weird missions, the sadness I feel right now. You aren't going to be coming around anymore, are You?"

"No."

Blinking back fresh tears, Joan offered Him a bittersweet smile. "I'm going to miss You. Your visits," she hurriedly amended. "I'm going to miss Your visits."

"It's time, Joan," He said gently.

"Okay." It wasn't, not really, however she knew the only choice she had was acceptance. "Does that mean You can't come to the wedding?" She held her breath, bracing herself against possible disappointment.

"I'll be there, Joan."

"In person, so to speak?"

"In person," He confirmed. "Now shouldn't you be getting ready for bed? You have a big day tomorrow."

Giggling, she nodded as she stood. He mirrored her, hands tucked in His corduroy jacket. Joan fidgeted with her hands, unsure of what to do next. She wanted to hug Him or something she'd ordinarily do in such a situation, but it seemed improper somehow. He wasn't helping either, just standing there, patiently waiting for her to make a move. Finally, she gave up and tried to convey everything she felt with a single look. "Good night."

God took one of His hands out of His pocket and drew it across her forehead before pushing her hair away from her face. "Good night, Joan."

Overwhelmed, she turned away and headed for the apartment. At the patio door, she glanced back, but He was gone. "See You tomorrow."

* * *

Joan groaned as shrill ringing woke her. Reluctantly opening her eyes, she squinted at her alarm clock as she hit the snooze button. Seven-fifteen. She was going to be late for work.

The ringing continued undaunted. It was the phone. She grabbed it, wondering who'd be calling so early. "Hello?"

"Good morning."

Joan stretched decadently as happiness swelled throughout her body at the sound of Adam's voice. "Good morning," she purred back.

"Are you excited?" he asked, amused by her catlike noises. "Nervous?"

"About what?"

Adam didn't answer immediately and Joan frowned. As much as she loved waking up to the sound of his voice, she knew she couldn't linger in bed for long. She wanted to savor this conversation quickly. She was just about to ask him what was wrong when he said, "Jane, do you know what day it is?"

"Of course, I do. It's Friday, our wedding . . ." Joan's jaw dropped. They were getting married today. Had she really forgotten? "Oh, Adam, I'm sorry," she whispered earnestly. "I just woke up."

His warm, forgiving chuckle rumbled through the phone line. Settling back into her pillows, she realized talking to Adam was a really good way to start the day. She intended to get used to this. "So," he began, pulling her out of her thoughts, "excited? Nervous?"

"Excited, yes. Nervous, no." She twisted a strand of hair around her finger. "You?"

"Same. I can't wait to see you coming down the aisle."

Feeling a smile wash over her, Joan teased, "You know, you're making the next eleven hours much harder to bear."

He scoffed, "You're counting the hours?"

"Yes. Aren't you?"

"Yeah," he admitted sheepishly, making her giggle. "Hey, Jane?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

Joan couldn't have stopped her grin if she tried. "Hey, Adam?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you, too."

After a moment, he said, "Hey, Jane?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you said yes."

"Hey, Adam?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you asked."

"Jane?"

"Yeah?"

"I can't wait to say 'I do.'"

For a moment, Joan couldn't summon a single word. Finally, she said, "Adam?"

"Yeah?"

"Me, either."

They sighed together. She could have played the game a lot longer. There were so many things she wanted to say to him. But then, listening to him breathe was good, too. Oh, she had it bad. She knew instantly when something else claimed his attention.

"Adam?" He didn't answer. "Hey, what's going on?"

She heard him say something, but it was too muffled for her to understand. Then he was back. "Sorry about that. Kevin and Rodney are ready. I have to go."

Though she wanted to say 'they can wait,' she knew it was time for her to get up, too. They had a long, full day ahead of them. "Okay."

"Good-bye, Jane Girardi."

"Good-bye, love."

Dropping the phone back in its cradle, Joan tossed back the covers and hopped out of bed. She crossed over to her vanity and stared at her reflection. Joan Girardi stared back. She reached out and touched the glass where her cheek still had pillow creases etched in it. "In about ten hours and fifty minutes, you won't exist anymore," she whispered. "Joan Rove will take your place."

Smiling thoughtfully, Joan waited for any worries or uncertainties to arise. This was usually the time when they made their last-ditch efforts, just before she actually took the big steps. She felt only rightness. She was more than ready to do this. Joan glanced back at her reflection. "Good-bye, Joan Girardi," she declared.

* * *

Dubiously, Adam raised his hand from the dish of warm, soapy water. "Ow." He glared at the woman across from him. She'd just popped the back of his hand with an inch-thick emery board and pushed his hand back in the dish. "Why are we doing this again?" he asked his bridegrooms.

"Because we were told to do something to relax you," Kevin answered.

He winced as the manicurist dragged the emery board across a sore spot on his nail. "I was relaxed before I came here," he muttered under his breath.

"And Kat told us to," Rodney added. He sat between Kevin and Adam, completely comfortable with his manicurist. Adam resisted the urge to grimace at his best man. Rodney had an almost uncanny ability to be comfortable anywhere. "She said," Rodney continued, "and I quote, 'Just because he works with his hands does not mean Joan should have to endure his calluses.'"

The image of Joan sucking her breath in through her teeth as he skimmed his fingertips down her spine appeared unbidden before his mind's eye. He could see her gazing up at him, heavy-lidded passion blazing in her eyes, as his hand slid up to cup her breast. Her moan reverberated through his memory. She never seemed to mind his calluses.

"Dude," Kevin said sharply.

With effort, Adam shook away his libidinous thoughts. "Huh?"

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

Kevin shot Adam a knowing look. "Stop having dirty thoughts about my sister."

Rodney choked on an aborted shout of laughter. "So he can't even think about tonight? That's cold."

Adam just gaped at Kevin. Kevin stared back. "I'm serious, dude. Don't make me come over there."

Adam and Rodney bowed their heads, shaking with bridled laughter at Kevin's tone. When he trusted himself to speak normally, he turned to his soon-to-be brother-in-law and said, "Dude, I'm marrying her. You don't have anything to worry about."

"I'd better not," Kevin said darkly.

"Are they always like this," Rodney asked.

Smirking, Adam said, "The Girardi men are extremely protective of Joan."

"All I'm saying is be careful with her," Kevin stated. "Because if you hurt her, I'll kick your ass." He grinned.

Adam leaned toward Rodney. "Is it customary to be threatened by your future in-laws on your wedding day?"

Rodney nodded reflectively. "I think so. It's like a formality you have to get out of the way before the wedding can actually take place."

Adam looked around his best friend at Kevin for confirmation. Kevin nodded, then pointed at Adam's manicurist. She'd opened a bottle of clear nail polish and had the brush poised over his hand.

"Uh, no." He politely pulled his hand out of the woman's grasp. "I won't need any polish, thank you."

* * *

The five women moaned in unison. "This is incredible," Helen sighed from somewhere on Joan's left.

"I haven't felt this good since before I got pregnant with Trevor," Rebecca said from Joan's far right.

Grace grunted. "This is definitely better than sex." The other four women all looked at her. She shrugged. "Unfortunately, I've never had spectacular, mind-blowing sex. Sue me." She dropped her face back in the table's face-shaped hole.

Joan buried her flaming face as well. Leave it to Grace to say something like that in front of her mother. "Well," she said when she trusted her voice to sound normal, "thank Kat. This was her idea."

The other three women chorused their thanks. Between the whimpers, sighs, and gasps, it sounded downright naughty.

"You're welcome," Kat said, a hint of laughter coloring her words. She did this for herself regularly.

Joan opened her mouth to thank her as well when her masseur finally loosened a particularly tight spot. "Oh, God," she groaned, mentally apologizing for taking His name in vain. It just felt so good.

"I hope the boys are enjoying their outing as much as we are," Kat mused.

* * *

After surviving the manicure debacle unscathed (and unpolished), Adam spent the next three hours taking care of the final details: paying the vendors, securing the ring, and such. Now he was sprawled in a chair in his room (Joan had rented rooms at a bed and breakfast across the street from the park so the wedding party could change and rest before the ceremony), desperate for a nap and some aspirin.

He had just nodded off when he heard the knock. He briefly considered pretending he wasn't there but thought of the chaos that might cause. "Come in," he said wearily.

Carl stuck his head in. "Adam?"

"Hey, Dad." Seeing the bag in Carl's hands, he got up and moved to the table. "What do you have there?"

His father frowned slightly as he entered the room. He seemed to be testing the waters. Adam contained his sigh, but sadness nearly overwhelmed him. It had been like this for the last week, this tentative dance they performed around each other after their last argument. For once, Adam hadn't started it. He'd simply asked if Sharon was coming to the wedding. Carl lost it. All of the frustration he'd been feeling since his heart attack gushed out. But it was Carl's unanticipated declaration—_she didn't love me enough to stay_—that neither knew how to get past_._ Adam understood the feeling—had felt it himself when he was a teenager, sometimes he still did. He'd always thought it was a sign of immaturity in him. It had never occurred to him that his father felt the same.

Carl sat down across from his son. "How are you holding up?"

"Tired. It's only noon, but I'm already exhausted." He offered his dad an uneasy smile. "Who knew weddings were so much work?"

"Women." Carl returned his son's smile. "Um, Sharon thought you might be hungry. She sent you some lunch."

Unable to bear his dad's hesitance, Adam said, "That was really nice of her."

"She's a nice lady."

Clearing his throat, Adam asked, "Is she coming tonight?"

Carl stiffened briefly before answering. "No. We thought it would be best if . . ."

"She should come." Taking a deep breath, Adam raised his eyes to Carl's uncertain ones. "You should have someone to share this with. Sharon cares about you. She should be there."

"Adam . . ."

"Mom's gone." He'd said it before, but this time it broke his heart. It was an oddly freeing sensation. "She's gone and we have to let her go."

Tears glistened in Carl's eyes. Adam felt tears in his own eyes. He didn't try to blink them away. "You deserve to be happy, Dad. If Sharon makes you happy, then I'm happy, too."

"Are you sure?"

"Can she cook?" he asked although he already knew the answer.

Carl nodded.

"Does she make sure you take your medication?"

"Yeah."

"Gets you to exercise?"

"You know she does," he answered, a hint of a smile creeping into his voice.

Adam swallowed before asking his next question. "Do you get that giddy, light-headed, excited, stomach-cramp feeling when you think about her?"

The smile faded from Carl's lips and clasped his hands together. After a long minute, he said, "It's getting stronger each day."

Nodding, Adam said, "Then I'm happy for you."

"Thanks."

Father and son sat quietly, digesting their conversation. Finally, Carl said, "She'll never replace Elizabeth."

"I know. I know that, Dad." After another mini-silence, Adam said, "I'm sorry for the way I act before and everyth . . ."

"None of that," Carl interrupted. "You're not apologizing on your wedding day. Maybe when you get back from your honeymoon," he teased.

"To both of you," he agreed. Adam drummed his fingers on the table as if signaling the end of the subject. He acknowledged the bag with a tilt of his head. "So what's in the bag? Tell me it's not a fried egg sandwich."

Watching his father throw his head back and belly laugh was the best thing to happen to Adam since his talk with Joan that morning. "That's _my_ specialty," Carl said, winking conspiratorially at his son. "Plus, Sharon's on the same health kick you've been trying to get me on." Then he took out two plates full of hot, steamed vegetables and roasted chicken.

Adam felt the worry he'd been carrying in the pit of his stomach over his father begin to loosen. He had a feeling that both he and Carl were going to be just fine.

* * *

"I'm not hungry, Mom," Joan exclaimed for what felt like the twentieth time. What was it with her mom and food? For as long as Joan could remember, Helen was constantly trying to force food on her and she was trying to fend it off. "I don't think I could keep anything down anyway." Maybe that would get her mom off her back.

Helen wasn't giving up so easily. "If you don't eat now, you won't get a chance to until the reception. Do you really want your stomach to start growling in the middle of the ceremony?"

Joan threw Helen an unholy glare knowing she was trapped by her mother's airtight logic. Helen returned her daughter's glare with a beatific smile. "What did you have in mind?" Joan asked as she turned away. It wouldn't do to let Helen see the grin stealing over her face.

"Well, you know I'm partial to bran."

"Mom!" She whirled around, aghast at her mother's suggestion.

Clapping a hand over her mouth, Helen burst into a fit of giggles before she fell on the nearby bed. "You should see your face."

Plunking her fists on her hips, Joan struggled to hold on to her indignation in the face of her mother's hilarity. "Not funny, Mom."

Helen cleared her throat and managed to swallow the majority of her remaining laughter before saying, "What would you have said if I'd mentioned the importance of staying regular?" She'd barely made it to the end of the question before she broke down again.

Joan gave up fighting and collapsed on the bed besides her mom, letting the shared laughter wash over her. The nervousness she hadn't felt that morning had slowly crept up on her until her stomach was in knots. It amazed her how good it felt being silly with her mother like this.

When they'd finally gotten control of themselves, Joan turned to her mother. "I needed that."

"Me, too."

Mother and daughter stared up at the ceiling, relishing this rare moment of unity. "Mom?"

"Yes, honey?"

"I know I wasn't an easy teenager," Joan began.

"No, you certainly weren't."

Joan bumped Helen's shoulder with her own. "What, you couldn't agree faster?"

Helen snorted.

"The point is," Joan continued importantly, "I appreciate now how lucky I was to have you for a mom."

Sitting up, Helen looked down at Joan with her pre-cry smile firmly in place. "Joan," she said in her uniquely Southern, sing-songy way. She was clearly moved by her daughter's statement.

Quickly sitting up as well, Joan warned, "No crying, Mom."

"But . . ."

"Uh-uh," she interrupted. "If you start crying, then I'll start crying and nobody wants a puffy-eyed, red-nosed bride. Not before the vows, anyway."

"Right." Helen settled for gazing at her grown daughter. She stroked Joan's cheek. Both were surprised when Joan pressed it into her mother's palm. "My baby's getting married," Helen whispered.

Joan rolled her eyes at the awe in her mother's voice to relieve the mounting emotion in the room. At the rate they were going, they'd both dissolve into puddles in about thirty seconds.

Helen suddenly pulled Joan in for a hug. She kissed her daughter's temple before whispering in her ear, "I'm lucky to have you for my daughter." She quickly let go of Joan and got to her feet. "I'll go find something for you to eat—fruit or something. Definitely no bran." Then she was gone.

* * *

A/N: I suppose many of you thought this was going to be the last chapter. Nope. There's one more. Hopefully, I'll be posting it tomorrow. Hope you enjoy the chapter. Feel free to tell me what you think of it. Alexandri 


	14. Epilogue

WARNING: This chapter is high in cheesy, fluffy, sugary content. Seriously, it's as cheesy as a warm wheel of Brie, fluffy as cotton candy, and sugary sweet as _The Brady Bunch_ (and I don't think there's a show, with the possible exception of _7th Heaven_, that tops _The Brady Bunch_ in sugary sweetness). My intention is to make you cry, no, weep. I want you broken down in front of your computers with tears of joy streaming down your face. That's the goal anyway. With that said, I present the conclusion of _We've Only Just Begun._ Alexandri

* * *

Adam hated neckties. He hadn't worn one in years. It had been so long, in fact, that he'd forgotten why he hated them so much. Standing in front of his room's full-length mirror struggling with the simple black silk tie Joan had requested reminded him of the rationale behind his disdain. They were too damn complicated to serve so little purpose.

Grunting in frustration, he attempted to tie the infernal thing one more time since there was no one around to help him. Once he'd awakened from his nap, his dad had gone across the hall to dress. Rodney and Kevin had been added to the ranks of Joan's list victims. In the five and a half hours since they'd arrived at the B&B, Adam had only seen his groomsmen for the first half hour. After that, they'd each gone off to run last-minute errands. For the first time since the planning had started, Adam was thankful he'd never been subjected to one of Joan's lists.

Just as he decided to leave the tie until reinforcements came, Adam heard a soft knock on his door. "Come in."

Sharon poked her head in. "Hi. I was looking for your father." She paused, taking a closer look at his disgruntled face. "Are you all right?"

With a grimace, he held up the rumpled menace. "Tie trouble."

She smiled and pointed at the tie. "May I?"

"Please." The elegant picture she presented as she crossed the room surprised him. Her hair was perfectly done as always. Combined with the tasteful makeup and tailored peach skirt suit, Sharon looked like she'd planned to attend his wedding all along instead of being invited at the last minute. "Sharon, I never intended to . . ."

"Exclude me," she interrupted easily as she smoothed some of the wrinkles out of the tie. "I know. We've been getting along better the last couple of months. I don't think your father realized that."

"I just assumed he had asked you."

"Don't worry about it. There are much more important things for you to be concerned with today." She put the cloth around his neck and began to loop it effortlessly. "Frederick, my late husband, God rest his soul, couldn't tie a tie for the life of him. My youngest Leonard," Adam raised his eyebrows at the name, "I made the mistake of letting Fred name the poor boy; he's hopelessly with ties as well."

Adam shoved his hands in his pockets as Sharon made the knot and straightened it out for him. "There. You're all set," she said, patting it in place. "It's good you can't do this yourself. Doing the little things, like tying Fred's neckties for him every morning, that's what I miss. There's something intimate about doing that sort of thing for your spouse. You and Joan will be just fine."

"Thanks," he said quietly. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Well, I should go find your father."

"He's across the hall." She nodded and turned toward the door when Adam remembered something he needed to have done. "Sharon?"

"Yes?"

He picked up the envelope and package on the table behind him. "Would you deliver these to Jane for me? I'd do it myself, but I think she'd be mad if I did."

"Of course." She took the items and headed for the door only to stop again. "I don't know if I told you this, but congratulations. I haven't really had a chance to get to know her, but Joan's seems like a very sweet girl."

"She really is."

* * *

"I'm going to kill her when she gets here!" Joan exclaimed as she paced back and forth in her room.

"Joan," Helen said. She was trying to calm her daughter down even though she knew that was going to be a difficult feat. "Please try to relax."

"Relax! How am I supposed to relax? She was supposed to be here a half hour ago. Now look at me." Joan gestured a bit wildly toward her reflection in the full-length mirror. "I'm upset. I'm splotchy. And I'm behind schedule."

Suddenly, she plopped down on the bed and buried her face in the comforter. "I'm going to be late to my own wedding," she wailed.

"Oh, honey. No, you won't," Helen soothed as she sat beside her daughter and stroked her back. "Everything will work out. You'll see."

Just then Grace and Kat trooped in. Helen and Joan glanced up, eager for good news. "There was an accident on the highway," Kat said. "It's been gridlocked for the last hour."

Joan's shoulders slumped and she looked as forlorn as an abandoned puppy. "I was right. I'm going to be late for my own wedding. And I'm going to be hideous when I get there."

"Oh, geez, Girardi," Grace cried, clearly annoyed, "it's just the hair and makeup lady. You've been doing both for yourself for years. Snap out of it!"

"You don't understand," Joan said with a vehement shake of her head. "I can't do it the way she did. You saw. She made me look as beautiful as Adam thinks I am. I want to be as beautiful as he thinks I am. _Today_."

Helen gave her daughter a little hug. "Joan, honey, you are."

"Humph!" Joan collapsed face down on the bed.

* * *

"Hello?" Sharon edged into the room. She opened her mouth to explain her presence when she noticed Joan lying on the bed. "Is she all right?"

"She's just a little upset," Helen said. "Her hair and makeup artist is stuck in traffic."

Nodding in understanding, Sharon gestured toward the prone bride. "May I?"

"Please."

Sitting beside Joan, Sharon laid a hand on her shoulder. "Joan?" The young woman peeked at her with one eye. "Adam sent this for you," she said, handing over the letter and package.

Slowly, Joan sat up and took the items. "How is he?"

"I think he's a little restless."

"Second-thoughts restless?" she asked haltingly.

"No. I think he just can't wait for the wedding to begin."

"I wish I could see him," Joan sighed.

"He wants to see you, too." Sharon patted Joan's knee. "Why don't you open his present and then we'll see about your hair and makeup?"

Joan's head jerked up and she gaped at Sharon. "What do you mean?"

Sharon smiled at the girl. "If there's one thing I know how to do, it's pull together a polished, sophisticated look at a moment's notice. Do you have your makeup with you?"

Joan nodded.

"Then let me go get my things out of the car and we'll get you wedding-day beautiful in no time."

"Thank you," Joan cried as she threw her arms around Sharon. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome, dear," she said, hugging the girl. "Now read your letter." Sharon stood and approached the group of gaping women.

"How did you do that?" Helen whispered.

"I'm a cosmetologist," Sharon answered.

* * *

"Are you ready to see yourself?" Sharon asked Joan.

Joan wasn't sure. Grace, Kat, Rebecca, Leila and her mother all agreed that she looked wonderful, but she still had her doubts. She hadn't given up her decision to murder her no-show hair and makeup lady and, though she thanked God that Sharon was around to save the day, she's never seen the woman's work before. What if her family and friends were just being nice to ease her frantic, troubled mind? Was she being ungrateful, doubting Sharon's skill? She suspected she was but couldn't help worrying.

Taking a cleansing, calming breath, Joan decided to be brave and turned toward the mirror.

Her lustrous chestnut curls were swept up in an intricate French twist with tendrils caressing her neck and the sides of her face. Dogwood blossoms, a tribute to her mother's Southern heritage like her pink and white magnolia bouquet, peeked out from among the curls. The makeup was flawless. Sharon had played up Joan's natural pout with a moist, lush red that was at once subtle and dramatic.

Continuing her perusal, Joan examined her strapless, floor-length ivory satin gown. It hugged her body to her hips, giving her an hourglass figure she'd never imagined she possessed, before flaring out into a full skirt. She'd topped the simple gown with a crocheted ivory shrug with asymmetrical, three-quarter length bell sleeves. The effect was sensual yet simple. She was a bride.

"Thank you," she said simply.

"Consider it a gift for the happy couple," Sharon said.

The seven women stood in silence, admiring Joan the bride and soaking in the importance of the moment. All of them jumped when the loud knock interrupted the quiet. "Are you decent?" Kevin asked through the door.

"I swear, my husband," Rebecca muttered before calling out yes.

"Adam sent us to make sure Joan . . . whoa." Kevin stopped speaking as he, Rodney, Luke, Will, and Carl all came to a standstill in the small room. All of them gaped at Joan.

"He sent you to make sure I what?" Joan asked, both amused and disconcerted by their collective shock.

"What?" Luke asked.

"Adam sent you to make sure I what?" she repeated.

"Not upset or anything," Rodney said. "Joan, you look . . ."

"Stunning," Kevin finished.

Carl smiled at her. "Adam won't be able to take his eyes off of you."

* * *

As much as he disliked having his picture taken, Adam was grateful to finally have something to do. Rodney and Kevin were back, though Adam distinctly heard Kevin mutter, "If my sister _ever_ gives me another list, I'm burning it."

After what felt like a million different poses, the photo session was over and the anxiety Adam had been holding at bay all day began to creep up on him. There were still two hours left until the ceremony and he didn't know how much longer he could go without seeing Joan.

As he tried to decide whether he should call her, Rodney clapped his hand on Adam's shoulder. "How are you holding up?"

"Not so well," he admitted. "The waiting around is driving me crazy. How is she?"

Rodney glanced at Kevin, who'd rolled up on Adam's other side.

"Dude, you have nothing to worry about. She's fine," Kevin responded. "But we have to get you inside so the ladies can take their pictures."

Adam glanced over his shoulder as if he expected to see Joan coming out of the bed and breakfast.

"Soon, man," Rodney said reassuringly at his disappointed look.

* * *

Joan's breath caught as she saw the twinkling lights in the trees leading toward her wedding guests. Kat disappeared down the aisle and she closed her eyes. A soft, unseasonably warm breeze caressed her and her stomach settled down. She smiled. Everything was just as it should be.

"Are you ready?" Will asked. He sounds like he'd be thrilled if she said no.

Her smile widening, Joan kissed her father's cheek. She knew this wasn't easy for him. "Yes, Daddy. I'm ready."

He nodded, sadness and happiness battling in his eyes. Taking her hands in his hands, Will said, "Do me a favor, all right, kiddo?"

"Okay."

"Be happy," he said solemnly.

With a misty laugh, Joan said, "I will. He makes me happy, Daddy."

Will nodded and offered his arm as the string quartet began to play _At Last_. "That's our cue."

They headed for the aisle, Joan smiling nervously at the guests she passed. This was it. The big moment. Any second now she was going to reach the aisle and began the walk toward the most important commitment she'd ever make. _Take a breath, Joan_, she told herself. _There's nothing to worry about. Everything's going to be just fine._

* * *

Adam's mouth fell open at the sight of Joan. The reds and oranges of the sunset enveloped her, kissed her skin. She was exquisite.

But she wasn't looking at him. Her eyes were busily scanning the guests as if she was looking for someone. The moment she found whoever it was—he admitted to feeling a bit jealous of this mystery person's claim on her attention—her shoulders relaxed and a bittersweet smile settled on her lips. Curious, he followed her line of vision to a tall, lovely woman he'd never seen before. Thick, glossy brown curls framed an elegantly proportioned face. Confused, he returned his gaze to Joan.

Her eyes were trained on him and the concentrated focus in her eyes stole his breath. He didn't know how it was possible, but in the few seconds he'd taken his eyes off of her she'd become luminous.

"My God," he whispered. Suddenly weak-kneed, he clutched the gazebo rail at his back. And then she was there, standing at the bottom of the steps and Will was putting her hand in his. His heart pounded in his chest, but somehow he managed to smile and whisper, "There aren't words for how beautiful you look."

* * *

"Joan and Adam wish to say a few words before exchanging their vows," Reverend Howard announced before gently prompting, "Adam."

He gazed into her eyes and smiled. "You're the most impossible woman I've ever met," Adam announced. Joan pressed her lips together to contain her giggles, causing him to grin. "You are. You're impossible to stay mad at. You're impossible to ignore. You're impossible to forget. But, most of all, you're impossible not to love. And I do love you, Jane."

"I love you, too," she whispered before she could stop herself.

"Meeting you was the single best thing to ever happen to me. You saved me—gave me back to myself at a time when . . ." Adam stopped, unwilling to finish the sentence. He didn't want to dredge up painful memories now. This was a time for joy. "I don't know who or where I'd be if it weren't for you. My personal angel. Thank you."

Nodding tearfully, Joan wrapped her free hand around his arms and leaned forward, oblivious to everything but the thought of kissing her magnificent man.

Reverend Howard cleared his throat, startling the couple. "We haven't reached that part yet."

Joan bowed her head and blushed while Adam grinned. Reluctantly, they pulled back.

Unsuccessfully attempting to hide his smile, the reverend said, "Joan."

She opened her mouth to speak and realized she couldn't. She was so full of joy and love that words seemed far too inadequate to express everything she felt. How could one person feel so much without bursting into a thousand pieces? Just as she offered Adam an apologetic smile, Joan felt him take her hand in his. As he laced their fingers together, Joan's mind found the words she'd spent two weeks refining.

"I am so very fortunate. Meeting you changed my life, changed me. You've taught me the meaning of kindness and generosity and compassion. You are both the sweetest and the strongest person I've ever known." Adam lowered his head, shaking it slightly as if denying her words. Joan cupped his chin in her hand and lifted it until he met her eyes. "You are," she insisted.

She slid her hand along his jaw and caressed his cheek with her thumb. "Knowing you, loving you, has made me a better person. I thank God every day for leading me to you. And I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my days beside you."

Adam laid his hand over hers and kissed her palm.

"Will you, Adam, have Joan to be your wife?" the reverend asked. "Will you love her, comfort and keep her, and forsaking all others remain true to her, as long as you both shall live?"

"I will." He gave a little nod as if he wanted to prevent any misunderstandings.

"Will you, Joan, have Adam to be your husband? Will you love him, comfort and keep him, and forsaking all others remain true to him, as long as you both shall live?"

"I will," she declared, staring unblinkingly into his eyes. She felt an enormous grin spread over her face as she got lost just looking at him. A part of her still couldn't believe this was really happening. She was marrying Adam Rove.

Joan jumped when a sharp elbow poked her in the ribs. "Geez, Girardi, pay attention," Grace whispered.

Embarrassed, Joan did as she was told. Adam's lips were pressed together as he held up her ring and tried not to laugh. She flushed as she raised her left hand and placed it in his.

"I give you this ring," he began as he slid the ring on her finger, his voice warm and strong. "Wear it with love and joy. As this ring has no end, neither shall my love for you."

Sniffing, she took the ring Grace gave her and turned to Adam. "I give you this ring," she said softly, the tears she held back finding expression in her voice. "Wear it with love and joy. As this ring has no end, neither shall my love for you."

"The best man will read a passage from "Resignation" by Nikki Giovanni in testimony of Adam's feelings for Joan," Reverend Howard announced as Rodney stepped forward,

He began to read, his voice rich, resonant:

"'I love you/

because the Earth turns round the sun/

because the North wind blows north/

sometimes/

because the Pope is Catholic/

and most Rabbis Jewish/

because winters flow into springs/

and the air clears after a storm/

because only my love for you/

despite the charms of gravity/

keeps me from falling off this Earth/

into another dimension/

I love you/

because it is the natural order of things.'"

A warm, gentle breeze wafted through the cooling night. Sniffs and the blowing of noses filled the silence that descended over the park. In the intense hush, Adam raised Joan's left hand to his lips and kissed the ring he'd just put on it. The simple gesture broke her resolve and tears spilled down her cheeks as she smiled up at him.

"Now the best lady will read a passage from _Jane Eyre_ by Charlotte Brontë in homage to Joan's feelings for Adam."

Grace opened her card, as caught up in the moment as everyone else, and read without a hint of sarcasm. "'I have for the first time found what I can truly love—I have found you. You are my sympathy—my better self—my good angel—I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence about you—and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one.'"

Reverend Howard cleared his throat. "Joan and Adam's journey has only just begun. As you go forth in this life together, keep the words of Colossians 3:12-14 close to your heart. 'Because you are God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with heartfelt mercy, with kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. Bear with one another; forgive whatever grievances you have against one another. Forgive as the Lord has forgiven you. Over all these virtues put on love, which binds the rest together and makes them perfect.'

"By the power vested in me by God and the state of Maryland, it gives me great pleasure to pronounce you husband and wife. _Now_ you may kiss bride."

Time seemed to slow and the world became muted as Adam stared at Joan. He raised his hands and cupped her beloved face, carefully wiping away her tears. "I love you," he mouthed.

"I love you," she mouthed back as she rested her hands on the back of his arms.

They leaned in, their eyes locked on the other's. Their lips were just a breath apart when he saw her close her eyes and tilt her head back ever so slight in willing surrender. His heart swelling at the sight, Adam closed the gap and captured her lips in the sweetest kiss he'd ever experienced. Gasping, he pulled back. Joan blinked up at him and he could tell she was as surprised by the kiss as he was. Vaguely, he had Reverend Howard say, "May I present Mr. and Mrs. Adam Rove," but he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of Joan long enough to move. It wasn't until Rodney and Grace prodded the newly wedded couple along that they moved at all.

* * *

Three hours later, Joan had danced all the dances, drunk all the toasts, met all the guests, and performed all the rituals she could endure. It was still fairly earlier, only about ten, but she wanted to lay down somewhere with Adam's arms around her more than anything else she could think of. Grace and Rodney had already started the departure process, but Joan was getting impatient. How long did it take to organize a bunch of half-drunk relatives and friends for the one last important element of this wedding?

"We're all set to go."

"Finally." Joan turned toward her husband, still blown away by the reality of it, and slipped her hand in his.

Adam chuckled. "A little eager, aren't we?"

Joan rolled her eyes in mock annoyance, then smiled. "I'm just ready to be alone with you."

"I know what you mean." He tipped his head toward the exit and she allowed him to lead her to it. "So, what's it going to be—bird seed, bubbles, confetti?"

"You'll see."

They stopped at the exit. Bright paper lanterns and ropes of lights lit the path currently flanked on each side by their guests. Joan's stomach clinched, mostly in excitement, but a little in hesitation. The concentration of guests was a bit intimidating.

"Are you ready?" Adam asked.

Joan gathered her skirts in her hand and nodded. "Let's go. But let's walk."

"Walk?"

"I don't want to risk my dress," she lied smoothly. She promised herself she'd apologize for it later.

With a shrug, Adam set off at a casual saunter, his arm draped firmly around her waist.

Joan carefully watched his face. At first, he seemed oblivious to what their guests were tossing at them. Then he stopped and looked up. He held out his hand before turning his wondrous gaze to her.

Thousands of white feathers fluttered down on them.

"Jane," he whispered, his voice catching.

She didn't say anything, just watched him lean toward her. She felt herself lean into him. Then his lips touched hers and all she could think was that this was the way their marriage should begin. The very same way they began.

**The End**

* * *

A/N: I hope that was a fitting ending for the story. I don't know what I'm going to post next or when, though a sequel and a honeymoon account have both been requested. There are too many stories, including an alternative version of _Starting Over _and _We've Only Just Begun_, swirling around in my head. I guess we'll see.

Thank you all one last time for your wonderful reviews. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and the story as a whole. Alexandri


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